


Hallowed Ground

by spinner33



Series: CM - Close to Canon [55]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Crime Reconstruction, Death, Graphic Sex, Hippie Vans, M/M, Mentions of Child Abuse and Sexual Abuse, Mentions of spousal abuse, Murder, Petty Spats, rubber duckies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 16:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 66,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5672500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid's first day back to work brings new leads in the continuing investigation against Edward Trovinger, the escaped fugitive who injured Reid and killed most of the Cryptology Department.   Although Reid claims he's ready to resume where he left off, there are growing signs that he might be more unstable than he's letting on.  As much as Reid is struggling, so is Agent April Davies, who was also impacted by her brush with Trovinger.        </p><p>No felines were harmed in the making of this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Cast

1 - The Cast

 

Reid awkwardly fumbled with the glass doors into the lobby, dropped his cane, and nearly lost an arm when he bent down to retrieve his walking stick. Someone else opened the doors right behind him. That someone else was also walking stiffly with a cane. Reid raised up, shouldered his satchel, and gave Agent Stewart from Ballistics a very nervous and apologetic half-smile. To his surprise, Stewart snickered and gave a big grin. 

“Dr. Reid. Is it March First already?” Stewart asked. 

“Good morning, sir. How’s your foot? Let me just say again how extremely sorry I am for what happened,” Reid winced. 

Agent Stewart’s left foot was in a cast up to his knee, and the curve of the front of the cast revealed that he was indeed missing his big toe. Stewart followed Reid’s gaze, and pivoted his bundled, bandaged foot back and forth for a moment of quiet contemplation. 

“Have you ever wondered what our numerical system would have been like if the first caveman who learned to count on his fingers and toes had been an amputee?” 

Reid cocked his head to one side as Stewart’s unexpected laughter filled their space in the lobby. Spencer’s brows rose, and he curled in upon himself physically, giving a painful, nervous chuckle. He was trying to determine if Stewart was making fun of him or not. It didn’t seem so, and yet Reid sometimes had no idea when he was being mocked. 

“My wife asked me that – guess you have to expect that kind of thinking from a scientist and statistician. Reid, you don’t have to keep apologizing. Thanks for the flowers, by the way. Lilies are my wife’s favorites. I’m going to be fine. It was an accident. Accidents happen. Relax. I’m not going to hide in any grassy knolls and pick you off on your way across the Quad. This is….you know? This is life smacking me on the ass and making me stand in the corner.”

“Sir?” Reid puzzled. He sorted through the words and wondered what philosophical theory Stewart was proposing – perhaps that his injury was a result of bad karma? 

“I’m sorry I was such a dick to you. We got off on the wrong foot, in more ways than one. Put it out of your mind. No hard feelings, kid. Are we good?” 

“I…yes, yes, sir,” Reid agreed eagerly. 

“Don’t worry. This is not something that’s going to slow me down. Lee said she is going to get me some steel-toed boots though,” Stewart mused, giving another booming laugh. “She’s been nursing me back to health,” he whispered as an aside to Reid as they both ambled towards the security desk. “Making my favorite foods. Propping me up in front of the TV. We’re watching football instead of House Hunters International. Lee is tucking me in at night and spoiling me damned near rotten. Dr. Reid, I’m enjoying this so much, I might ask you to shoot me in the other foot.” 

Stewart’s loud laugh echoed through the lobby. He flashed his badge to the guard at the desk, and then passed his credentials over the scanner. The guard motioned him on through. Stewart clanked his way through the portal and waved at Reid before making his way towards the elevators. 

“Take it easy, Doc,” Stewart grinned. 

Reid waved as well, and turned his attention to the guard at the desk. 

“Badge, sir?” 

Reid’s fingers were trembling as he pulled new badge from his jacket pocket. His heart thumped erratically. This was it. He was back. He was finally back. He had been so afraid this day would never come. He was feeling giddy, but it was that ‘I might throw up at any second’ kind of giddy. 

“Pass it through the scanner, sir,” the guard pointed. “Your file shows you’ve been out since November. Welcome back. I see you've been issued one of the new chip badges. New security measures. We can track you safely throughout the building, find everyone in case of emergencies. Amazing what technology can do.” 

Reid agreed with a grim nod, and passed his badge over the glass platen, letting the tiny red beams bounce off of it. The guard’s desk monitor lit up with Reid’s updated, official picture (taken last week), his badge number, and all of his physical characteristics like age, race, height, and weight. It also offered his presumed destination, floor, and office number. Office number? Reid thought that was odd. He didn’t have his own office. 

“Back to the BAU then, sir? And not a minute too soon, from what I hear. Well, have a good morning anyway,” the guard said cryptically. “They’ll have that mess cleaned up in no time.”

“Mess?” Reid inquired as he clipped his badge to his front pocket. He glanced down, straightened the badge, fussed with it, and realigned it again. 

“Don’t worry,” the guard reassured him. “One time they had a roach infestation down in Entomology. One of the experiments got loose and infiltrated the walls. Took them six weeks to eradicate all of those bugs. You should have heard the screaming coming from the Archives next door.”

Reid got out of the way of the other agents behind him who were waiting to pass through security. A phalanx of dark suits were coming in, wearing vests blazoned with ATF instead of FBI. By the time Reid crossed the expanse of lobby and was standing in front of the bank of elevators, his stomach had calmed down. He allowed himself a small smile. His hands stopped trembling.


	2. A Complete Mess

2 - A Complete Mess

 

Reid was waiting for the elevator doors to part, attempting to look and act casually while every agent who went by him stared openly. Did he look that dramatically different from when he had last been here? Why did everyone have to stare at him like that? He stepped onto the elevator car which opened, and tucked himself into the corner by the buttons. He didn’t like elevators, but it calmed him somewhat if he could stand next to the control panel. 

“Hold up!” someone shouted. Reid put his cane between the closing doors, and they bounced apart. Derek Morgan bounded into the lift, making it rock. Torg was a step behind him, lugging an attaché stuffed with files. 

“Hey!” Morgan and Torg exclaimed in one voice. Morgan continued on. 

“Reid! Good to see you!” 

Reid had almost forgotten how strong Morgan was, almost. The bear hug Reid endured took his breath away. He was nearly overwhelmed by Derek’s cologne; not an unpleasant scent but heavily-applied this morning. Reid recognized the brand and what it meant – Morgan had gotten lucky last night. 

Torg watched their hug, and ducked slightly to the side. He was embarrassed by the emotional display. The younger agent wasn’t a big hugger. He wiggled his fingers in greeting and almost dropped the briefcase. He steadied himself as the elevator rose swiftly. 

“Hotch told me you closed the Bowdin case in New Orleans,” Reid said. Morgan nodded slowly and gravely. 

“Yep. We got the bastard. Finally.”

“Tanisha?” Reid asked. “How is she doing?” 

Morgan’s expression became more serious. 

“She’s in the hospital. It’s going to take time. But she’s alive, against all odds. You don’t know how surprised the SWAT team was when they busted down that door and found Tanisha alive in Bowdin’s house. Her parents, they couldn’t stop crying. It was… you know…gratifying,” Morgan said, clearing his throat. “It’s why we do this job: for the cases with happy endings.”

“As the kids would say, right in the feels,” Torg commented. Morgan’s smile returned.

“Yeah, right in the feels,” he nodded. 

“Back to the salt mines?” Torg commented to Reid. “You must be excited.” 

“Nervous,” Reid admitted. “Queasy.” 

“Nervous? About what? Nothing to be nervous about,” Morgan chided, clapping a big hand on Reid’s shoulder and shaking him slightly side to side. 

“Have you talked to Agent Stewart since the gun test accident?” Torg wondered. Before Reid could answer, Torg continued talking. “Sam Stewart is not the hard ass he seems like. He’s a big softie, really. He’s not the type to hold a grudge either. He’s got a great sense of humor too. Him and Lee are good people. Did I ever tell you what he did for my 30th birthday? He took the whole department out for drinks at a stripper club. He’s usually so straight-laced. We were all shocked! Especially LaBarbera. I could see her planning a sexual discrimination lawsuit in her head. We get there, and lo and behold, it’s ladies night. Stewart was joking that I might finally meet the girl of my dreams. He gets us all tables by the stage, and he tells me, ‘Hey, kid, if you see anything unfamiliar, don’t be afraid to ask me questions’. I could have died. The audience is packed with women. I mean, hundreds of them. I should have guessed from that alone, but it didn’t click for me. I had never been in a strip club. Clearly, it had been a few years since Stewart had been to one either. The lights go down, the audience roars, and the curtain parts, and there was a collective gasp from the entire Ballistics department.”

“Why?” Reid asked. 

“I see you don’t spend much time at strip clubs either, eh? Ladies night,” Torg repeated for emphasis. “Instead of Amber Lynn wearing spangles and tassels, wrapping herself around the stripper pole, and sticking her sweaty crotch in your face, the first act was this trio of beefy, muscular guys, in the tiniest, tightest jocks. I think I may have stopped breathing. Stewart almost swallowed his shot glass in surprise. LaBarbera’s face lit up. She jumped out of her chair, and she gave this cowgirl holler that raised every hair on my head. Stewart crawled away, hid by the exit the entire night, drinking himself stupid at the bar, not even looking at the stage. He spent weeks apologizing to me. He was mortified.” 

“Holy shit,” Morgan gasped as the doors opened on their floor. His jaw dropped. 

“I know, right?” Torg laughed. As he faced forward, he caught his breath too. 

The BAU offices were adrift in curtains of opaque plastic sheeting and a floating miasma of white dust. Machinery wailed loudly throughout the vast empty space. There was a wall of stacked boxes, tight, clean, neat, and tidy. The boxes wrapped around the corridor which led to the left towards the break room, and to the right towards the upper management offices. There were names on the boxes. Agents were standing next to the boxes which carried their names, looking upset, and even a little ill. One agent was holding two tiny orchids in her grip, and she was on the verge of tears. 

Hotch marched around the corner from the management offices, following Dr. Lind. Aaron was bellowing to be heard over the machinery roaring in the background. 

“Ma’am, the timing of all this could not be worse!” 

“I’m sorry to throw off your schedule, Agent Hotchner, but when someone says ‘electrical wiring malfunctions’ and ‘danger of catastrophic fire’, I tend to take their concerns very seriously. The workers are going to need time to get into the walls and rip out all the wiring, and more time afterwards to put it all back together again.”

“Do they need to take down every wall to do this?” Hotch hollered. 

“The Brass wants to take this opportunity to renovate the space. They told me three weeks, four weeks tops. I’m sure there’s enough casework to keep everyone occupied outside the office for that length of time,” Dr. Lind promised. 

“But my files!” Hotch wailed. 

“Everything you need is in the boxes,” Lind pointed. 

“What about my office!” Hotch added. 

“Everyone’s personal effects have been boxed up and placed in secure storage.”

“I need my personal space, to think, to breathe!”

“We all will be doing our casework from home for the foreseeable future,” Dr. Lind insisted. “If we need to talk, your technical analyst can arrange video chats and conference calls. The Bureau wants us to test out more telecommuting, in case of emergencies or inclement weather. Now’s our chance!”

“It’s a damned inconvenience, ma’am,” Hotch’s voice dropped and his face scrunched up moodily. “Why couldn’t they do this over a holiday break?”

Dr. Lind was studying the blueprints which were tacked up on the wall by the elevators. So was Torg. He glanced at the dangling blue and white pages, back at Dr. Lind, and back at the pages. 

“Agent Hotchner, you are not to go behind the plastic, not even with protective gear and a face mask. The workers don’t need you in their way. I don’t need you stepping on the wrong wire and getting electrocuted. Take your boxes. Gather your team. Work from home,” Dr. Lind scolded gently. 

Hotch grumpily brushed the tell-tale dust off his suit jacket, and then did a double-take when he saw who had come off the elevator. When Hotch spotted Reid, his attitude totally changed. He gave a big smile, and his anger dissipated. Reid rocked on his feet and gazed shyly at the floor, a smile curling up his mouth on both sides. 

“REID!” Hotch bellowed, grinning, reaching over, and patting Reid’s shoulder. “About damned time you got in! Good to have you back!” 

“Thank you, sir!” Reid yelled to be heard. It was impossible to miss the way everyone else turned to stare at them. There were diverse reactions spanning all emotions from amusement to derision. Hotch was doing his level best to separate work from home, but no one was fooled, especially the way Reid was smiling shyly at Hotch and gazing at his shoes. 

An hour ago, Hotch had given Reid a rushed kiss goodbye at the kitchen door before charging to his SUV, struggling to get it started, and racing away. An hour before that, well, the kisses and touches they had exchanged then had not been rushed at all. Spencer replayed the memory in his mind, and smiled a bit wider. Hotch reached over and patted Reid’s shoulder again. Maybe it was embarrassment which caused Hotch to react this way. After all, he had left early in order to get to work, not recalling that Reid would actually need to ride in to work WITH HIM because today was the day Reid was returning to the BAU. Hotch was already at the office by the time he had realized his mistake. Reid had taken it in stride, and had made alternate arrangements. 

“Ma’am!? Dr. Lind?!” 

Dr. Lind’s secretary rushed over to their group waving a cell phone, which she handed to the new assistant director and section chief. Simone cupped her hand over her ear and headed as far to the left as she could get. It didn’t help. She pushed the elevator button, jumped into an open car, and bumped her right hip into the ‘hold doors’ button. 

“Say that again!” she shouted into the phone. “You’re sure? How long ago? Yes, sir. They’re on their way.” 

She handed the phone back to her assistant, and motioned to Hotch. 

“I want you to head down to the lobby. Agent Franzetti from ATF is waiting. He’ll brief you on the situation. There’s been an explosion in Fairfax. It’s Ed Trovinger’s house.” 

Hotch stiffened as if he had been slapped in the face. 

“I’ll round up Rossi and Blake and send them down to you,” Dr. Lind assured Hotch as he pulled Morgan, Torg, and Reid physically onto the elevator. Dr. Lind stepped out, and Hotch pushed the button for the lobby.


	3. Shelter in Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a retelling of the chapter "Fallout/Shelter" from Mercury Rising.

3 - Shelter in Place

 

“Reid, this isn’t what you should be doing, not on your first day back, that’s all,” Hotch was grumbling. Up ahead of him, Reid chuckled softly. Hotch’s brow darkened. “Don’t you take that tone with me,” Hotch muttered. 

“What tone?” Reid asked innocently. 

“You don’t know how many times I’ve questioned Davies. Morgan too. Schultz has. Dr. Lind has. Garcia tried too. Privately. Separately. Jointly. On-site. Off-site. We’ve done everything reasonable to give Davies a chance to cooperate.”

“Hotch.”

“You’re not going to get anywhere with her either, you know, smart ass. I don’t care if she is in love with you.” 

“Aaron, this is not a competition.” 

Hotch and Reid paused in between the immense rows of shelves. Reid darted his eyes both ways before latching onto Hotch’s tie and pulling him into an unexpected kiss. It was a quick smooch by most standards, but it was enough to redirect Hotch’s train of thought and make him stop shouting, which was what Reid wanted. Reid pulled away, patting Hotch’s big chest. Hotch straightened his tie and frowned at Spencer. 

“Stay here, and don’t snap at anyone while I’m gone,” Reid whispered before he hurried around the corner of the shelves. 

His intended target didn’t have time to run away before he was right next to her, at which point, it would have been pointless and silly for her to have fled. Reid smiled tentatively at Agent April Davies, and she smiled back at him. Relief and compassion filled her sad eyes. It was as if all the bad memories of the last few months rolled over both of them like an unstoppable tsunami of emotional depression. 

Reid cleared his throat, and attempted to settle his emotions. He wanted to ask if Davies had talked to Agent Rabovsky since Bernie had returned. Their former SSA from the now-defunct Cryptology department had returned to work on February 1. She had taken lesser position in the White Collar Crimes Unit. Bernie was doing all right on the surface, but was struggling underneath with nightmares and an exaggerated startle response to loud noises. Reid had talked to Bernie in the therapist’s lobby only yesterday, while they were waiting for their individual appointments with their different doctors. Rabovsky had been reluctant to talk much about herself, but she had expressed a great deal of concern for Davies. Bernie told Reid that Davies was due back today in Archives, thanks in no small part to the fact that Rabovsky and Reid had both gone to bat for her at a closed-door meeting with the Brass. 

Davies looked shyly to the ground. Her withdrawn body language struck a chord with Reid. He wanted to say something comforting, something that would pull her out of her shell for a moment. Physically, Davies had escaped Edward Trovinger with a few cuts and scrapes. Emotionally however, she was one of the walking wounded, and she would be for some time to come. Perhaps if Reid had a way of distracting her from her inner turmoil and pain, she might come around sooner. If he could give her something to focus herself on, it would help. He knew this from personal experience. Having had the Gorsuch case in Maine to focus his attention on had helped Reid tremendously. 

Rabovsky had recommended an emotional approach – offering Davies a shoulder to cry on. Reid had tried that approach already with no response. So he decided that complete professionalism was worth a try. First and foremost, Davies wanted to be respected as an FBI agent. She didn’t want to be smothered with unwelcome sentimentality. She wanted to get back to her job, and she wanted everyone to forget about the incidents that had occurred in November. Frankly, so did Reid. 

Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen for Reid or Davies either one. Everyone knew the salacious details of her abduction. In the end, Davies and Trovinger had struck a bargain – her silence for Reid’s life. Trovinger had remained at large since late November. Davies had refused to cooperate with police, with FBI agents, with anyone who had asked for her help in trapping Trovinger. She was bound and determined that she was going to honor her word, because honoring her word meant Trovinger would not ‘finish the job’ with Dr. Spencer Reid. 

“Agent Davies, do you have a few minutes?” Reid asked cordially, gently, professionally. He leaned on the shelves with one hand and his cane with the other. 

“Yes, sir,” Davies said with a shy half-smile. “It’s good to see you.”

Davies’ eyes traced Reid’s body and his cane, and came back to his face, filled with even more sympathy than before. Reid reached out and touched the books in the cart she was pushing around the library. She found comfort in these surroundings, and the last thing Reid wanted to do was disrupt the calm that she felt here. He had no choice though – they were desperate for any help she might be willing to give them. 

“You too, stranger. Oooh,” he purred, stroking his favorite tomes. 

“I heard on the news about the explosion in Fairfax,” Davies said, picking up another book to shelf. 

“Yes,” Reid replied. “That’s why I’m here.” 

“Was it Ed’s house?” Davies wondered. She was putting on a good front, keeping her voice strong. It was important to her to show him that she was not the fragile flower they had expected her to be in the face of the news of Trovinger’s reemergence. 

“Records indicate the house belonged to Michael Trovinger, and with his death last year, it passed to his son, Edward.” 

“I’ve been expecting this for some time,” Davies admitted. When she moved to climb the ladder to reach an upper shelf, Reid steadied the heavy wooden object with one thin hand. “Was Ed there?” Davies asked. There was a faint tremble to her voice that betrayed the emotions warring inside her. Reid paused, put a hand on her arm. 

“No,” he answered. 

“Good,” Davies sighed, flooding with obvious relief. She had been worried about Trovinger. That spoke of the emotional bond between them, but also of what kind of compassion April Davies possessed. In spite of the terrible things that Trovinger had done, she held out hope that he could be redeemed from his sins and guided back to the correct path. “But the news said two bodies were found. I assumed….” She pressed carefully for more details. 

“Two bodies were found. Neither of which belonged to Ed Trovinger,” Reid answered. “You feared he meant to commit suicide. Is that why you haven’t revealed where he might have gone? You meant to give him ample time to find his own resolution.” 

“I don’t have any idea where he would have gone, except home, but he didn’t like that house. There were too many ghosts. It wasn’t home to him. It was Hell.” 

“We did find two bodies,” Reid whispered. “Skeletal remains.”

“Male or female?” Davies wondered as she continued shelving books.

“Female. Both. Partial remains. The blast destroyed much of the structure, but we were able to recover two people.” 

“Was it Lisa?” Davies asked. 

Reid beamed as he spoke, “So you know about her? In researching Ed Trovinger's background, we discovered that his older sister Lisa Trovinger disappeared in 1982. Her body was never found. We do believe that one set of the remains belongs to her.”

“Where was she in the basement?” Davies shivered. 

“She was buried in a crawlspace under the stairs.”

Those words had profound impact on Davies. She grabbed Reid’s hand out of reflex as she nodded wildly. 

“Yes! Under the stairs!” she exclaimed. Her eyes were wild for a second before she calmed again. That basement—that horrid basement. Reid had seen the pictures from when the FBI had swept Ed Trovinger’s house, searching for clues on where to find him. 

“The other set of remains was recovered had been buried under the concrete floor itself, which was blown apart by the blast. Our theory is…” 

“The other skeleton is Ed’s mother?” 

“Yes. Patricia Trovinger was last seen in 1973. Odds are that the second set of remains belongs to her.” 

“I know what the Suits are thinking, but it wasn’t Ed who killed them.” 

“The cause of death for both women was a shattered skull and then manual strangulation.” 

Although the findings were preliminary in both cases, pending further study by the coroner, the condition of the remains had left little doubt as to cause of death for either woman. They had found Lisa under the stairs first. A radar sweep of the basement, in search of secondary explosive devices, had turned up Patricia’s remains. The coroner had taken one look at the indentations in their skulls and theorized ‘Louisville Slugger’. 

“It wasn’t Ed. It was probably Ed’s father,” Davies insisted. 

“Michael Trovinger?”

“Him. Yes. He did it.” 

“How are you?” Dr. Reid asked carefully as he handed Davies another book. 

“Fine,” she remarked. Her reply was too quick, too practiced. She continued on directly with the previous topic. “Ed’s father killed the mother and the sister. He must have. He killed them, not at the same time, but surely it was him, not Ed.”

“Have you been seeing a therapist?” Dr. Reid asked. Davies was annoyed by the question. 

“I had to agree to therapy in order to be reinstated. I will have weekly sessions for the foreseeable future, until my SSA says otherwise. Dr. Reid, you have to believe me. Ed didn’t kill his mother or his sister. He loved them. He wouldn’t have killed them.” 

The way Davies had forcefully insisted her point made Reid fell terrible about having to contradict her, but the truth was the truth, and it needed to be said. 

“Loving someone does not negate the ability to harm them. Nine out of ten women who are murdered are killed by their boyfriend or spouse or male family member. However, Patricia Trovinger disappeared in 1973, making it inconceivable that Ed Trovinger could have been responsible for her death. He would have been less than a year old at the time. As for Lisa Trovinger, Ed would have been ten at the time of her death. He was unlikely to have had the physical strength to strangle his sister, let alone bash in her skull. I agree with you, Agent Davies. Ed Trovinger was not responsible for either death.” 

“He had survivor’s guilt. They haunted him. His sister more than his mother. I don’t think he ever knew for sure what happened to his mother. The father, I think he might have attacked Lisa in front of Ed. I believe he must have. Ed was present when the father attacked Lisa, and he was scarred forever because he couldn’t help her, either during the attack or afterwards.” 

“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” Reid said somewhat unnecessarily. The flurry of words he had drawn out of her was unexpected and reassuring at the same time. She had had these thoughts bottled up inside her for months, with no one to talk to about it. She hadn’t really been opening up to her therapist, and her parents couldn’t relate to what she had gone through. She had not talked to her sister either. Her boyfriend Petru Vasilescu could not relate to what she had gone through. Although Reid had offered himself as a shoulder to cry on, Davies had been reluctant to accept that offer. He was kicking himself for not thinking of work before emotion. Davies was first and foremost an FBI agent, and she had been mentally working this case for as long as the others had been, maybe even harder! 

“I can’t close my eyes without seeing his face,” April admitted. “When I dream at night, I see that basement. I spent three days locked in that basement.” 

Could Reid hope this might be an opening? He offered, “In which case, I should very much like to walk you through a cognitive interview, if you’re willing, when you’re willing.” 

Once he had spoken the words, Reid had understood it had been the wrong thing to say. It was much too soon for her. Davies’ anger flared, but burned out quickly, replaced by remorse and guilt. There was a fleeting glimpse of another, more painful emotion – unrequited affection. He wasn’t willing to call it love. That would be going too far. But she held him in very high regard. She had hidden it so well from Reid when they had briefly worked together, but her feelings for him were getting harder to hide. Davies’ anger had flared out so quickly because she couldn’t bring herself to be angry with Reid for too long. 

FBI agents and state and local police had been hounding Davies since November, begging and pleading, and in other cases, outright threatening her if she didn’t open up about her ordeal, give them more insight into Ed Trovinger’s possible whereabouts. It was wrong of Reid to venture in that direction, but he had no choice. He needed to get Davies to open up. It wasn’t a competition. Reid wasn’t trying to show the others up. They were desperate to find Trovinger before he harmed anyone else. The sooner they could garner even the smallest insight from Agent Davies, the sooner they would be able to find a thread to pull which would lead them to Edward Trovinger. 

“You of all people know the deal that I made, Dr. Reid. I will not help you capture Ed Trovinger,” Davies replied. Beyond the guilt, and the fleeting spark of affection, she was disappointed that Reid was taking the same tact that everyone else had been taking with her. Surely she must understand why he was persisting in this. Surely she must understand the urgency of the situation, not only for them but for herself. 

“I am not ignorant of the deal that you made, nor am I ungrateful,” Dr. Reid insisted. “However, I do not believe you would be betraying any bargain you made with your abductor if you were to aid me in an effort to solve the crimes that were committed against his mother and his sister. How is Petru?” Dr. Reid asked. 

As much as Davies had disliked the questions about Trovinger, she had been truly annoyed by the mention of her ex-boyfriend, Petru Vasilescu. 

“We broke up. He returned to Romania, which you wouldn’t be asking about if you didn’t already know,” she snapped coldly at Reid. She was hurt, hiding behind that wall of anger and pain. It must have been galling, to be reminded of Petru in such a fashion. 

“May I ask what happened between you?” Reid proceeded cautiously. 

“We had a falling out.” 

“Clearly. Was it over the abduction?”

“No. Actually it was over my miraculous return.”

“Why would you quarrel over your safe return?” Reid asked, tilting his head. 

“Curiously enough, I don’t think Petru was comfortable with the idea that I wasn’t more traumatized.” 

“I don’t understand,” Reid said. Was Davies being sarcastic with her remark? 

“Neither do I,” Davies sighed resignedly. “He kept telling me that I could tell him everything that had happened. But I had already told him, you see? When there wasn't more to tell..." 

"He did not believe you had not been..." 

Reid understood suddenly what Davies was driving at, and what she couldn’t bring herself to say. Reid was absolutely certain that Davies had been the victim of a very traumatic sexual assault in her past. The case reports he had read had mentioned a college boyfriend and a lost weekend, but no further details. His heart hurt for Davies. Statistics concerning sexual assault rolled around in his head, but he pushed them away. Those were the cold hard facts. They were meaningless numbers when compared to the impact on actual victims of these crimes. Interactions both distant and recent came to mind. Reid couldn’t help but be reminded of Megan Tremblay and her haunted eyes, the jagged scar she would carry around her throat for the rest of her life. So too of Joy Lovelace, with her repressed anger and internalization of her pain. Many traumatized assault victims were walking around in a prison of fear and self-loathing, while their attackers were living their lives and pretending that no crime had ever been committed. It made Reid angry, and it made him sorrowful as well. Whatever had happened to April had left its mark too. She was uncomfortable saying or even hearing the word ‘rape’. Mindful of her pain, he was careful as he concluded his sentence. 

"More traumatized?" Reid whispered. Davies nodded in reply. 

"There wasn't anything to tell, and he couldn't believe nothing had happened, so Petru concluded that I had been willingly unfaithful. He believed the reason I wouldn’t help the police and the Bureau capture Ed was because I was in love with my kidnapper,” Davies added bitterly. Reid had not expected her to open up this way. She must have been aching for someone to talk to. Why had it been so hard for any other agent to get her to speak? Reid couldn’t understand. Davies needed someone who could relate to her. Why had no one else seen that? 

“I’m sorry,” Reid offered. 

“Nothing happened, Dr. Reid. But Petru wouldn’t believe me. He accused me of lying to him, he called me a whore, and he slapped me. I told him to leave and never speak to me again. I haven’t seen him since.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Reid lamented, feeling the need to apologize on behalf of the unfeeling, self-centered males everywhere who somehow managed to make the most horrific experience a woman could go through all about how they themselves were affected. 

“Why? It’s my own fault. I should have known he was too good to be true. I will be more cautious in the future.” 

Reid watched Davies drop her head, her shoulders rounding as resignation filled her frame. Like Joy Lovelace, April Davies clearly blamed herself for what had happened. She was internalizing her pain. Petru had hurt and disappointed Davies. But more than that, the son of a bitch had only reinforced the guilt and pain that Davies was carrying around from previous bad experiences. She held herself accountable for her assault, and for every failed relationship since. Reid was afraid the breakup with Petru, coupled with what had happened with Trovinger, was going to be too much for Davies to get over. She was going to stop trying. She wasn’t going to risk her heart in another emotional relationship, because she assumed it was only going to end in pain and misery. She was going to curl up inside herself and hide, pushing everyone away. 

“Agent Davies, it’s not uncommon for situations like this to come between a couple. When one party has been the victim of a criminal offense, and the other party can’t relate to what they’re feeling emotionally,” Dr. Reid offered feebly. Spencer worried when he had finished the sentence that Davies would think he was making excuses for Petru. Instead, she gave a stiff smile. 

“Perhaps we should leave it at that,” April said with a finality that Reid could not mistake. She did not want to talk about Petru any more. She had closed that door. He should respect her wishes. She swiftly and abruptly changed the subject. “So, Ed blew up his house this morning? What took him so long? Good for him. He should have blown it up years ago, with that son-of-a-bitch father of his inside,” Davies continued, with not a small amount of venom. Reid had been expecting these feelings to surface, the lingering effects of Stockholm Syndrome. Davies still felt sympathy for Trovinger, and she was angry on Edward’s behalf for the physical and emotional abuse that he had suffered as a child at the hands of his father. More than that, focusing on someone else’s pain kept her from dealing with her own. 

“The bomb fragments at the scene are consistent with the bomb fragments recovered from the other crime scenes,” Reid replied. “There is no doubt that Ed Trovinger was responsible for the explosion this morning. That puts him in the area as late as 5:00 a.m.”

“Unless he used a timer,” Davies said. She immediately regretted the words. She chided herself and bit her tongue. Reid would have had to have been blind not to have noted her reaction to her own words. So she had seen timers at the house when she had been there? 

“Agreed. It is also possible that he used a timer,” Reid murmured, shrew eyes glued to Davies. 

“Did you find any books?" Davies asked. Reid smiled because that had been his first comment to Hotch as they had approached the explosion site. Spencer had speculated that if there were no books at the scene, no trace of pages or other literary debris, then Ed Trovinger would not be found dead in the house. Reid’s remark had drawn a snicker or two at first. However, when neither books nor Ed Trovinger’s body turned up in the on-scene search, members of the coordinating teams had fallen quiet and a bit sheepish around Reid. 

"Not a single page, not a single book, has been found on scene,” Reid responded to Davies.

"He didn't get all those in his car," Davies blurted all too quickly, confirming Reid’s own theory. 

"It would seem that Ed is in the wind once more,” Reid concluded. He sighed, not in anger or resignation, but with a sense of longing. The lack of clues was leaving him frustrated. Even more strong than his desire to see Ed Trovinger in custody and not able to harm anyone else, Reid was anxious for another puzzle to sink his teeth into. He treated puzzles and hard cases like Goody treated his favorite squeaky mouse. Reid was desperate for another toy to bite and savor. 

“You know, Dr. Reid, for all his failings, for all his sins, for all his crimes, Ed Trovinger never slapped me in the face, and he never called me a whore,” Davies murmured, bitterness coloring her tone again. Reid sensed the opened door and reached for it. 

“I know you’re struggling with how you should feel about your abduction and your abductor.” 

“Tell me how it felt.” 

“How what felt?” Reid asked simply. Davies leaned a shoulder against the bookshelves and closed her eyes. 

“You are one of the few people who actually does know what I’m going through, because you’ve been there too. Tell me how you feel about Tobias Hankel. Do you still struggle with what happened then?” she asked. 

“Yes.” Reid admitted. 

Spencer had not expected Davies to conjure the ghost of Tobias Hankel. But if he was going to be poking her soft spots to elicit a reaction, he shouldn’t be upset with her for poking at one of his. Reid could almost feel the physical pain in his broken foot, the fear that had gnawed at his soul, turning his insides to water. The cold, dark barrel of the gun against his forehead as he resolutely refused to play Hankel’s sick game, refused to choose a member of his team to die. The sound of that chamber turning, of the hammer striking an empty space. The desperation in his heart when he finally broke down, choosing Aaron Hotchner, hoping beyond hope that Hotch would understand his biblical misquotes and pick up on the clues about where to find him. The dank smell of that hateful shack, and burnt fish entrails, had lingered in Reid’s nose for many days. So too the moldy smell of autumn leaves around him as he was forced to dig his own grave. Reid scratched unconsciously at the crook of his left elbow. The sweet siren of temptation sang through his veins, filling his entire body with longing. 

Davies watched Reid scratch, and curiosity went through her eyes. Had she understood? He was a man, weak and fallible. Reid was desperate for her to see his faults. He needed for her to understand that her reactions to being kidnapped and held and tormented were not an unforgiveable breach of human weakness. 

Above it all, one overwhelming memory from the Hankel case rose to the surface in Reid’s mind – the way Hotch had touched his shoulder and lifted him upright from a crouched position, the way Hotch had put both arms around him and held him close. ‘I knew you’d understand’, Reid had mumbled. Once Hotch had put his arms around Reid, Spencer had felt safe again. He had spent years afterwards conjuring that memory in his mind whenever he needed to feel secure. 

Reid raised his eyes, not to Davies, but to locate Hotch where he was standing at the end of the row of bookshelves. Aaron was close enough to overhear every word that was passing between Davies and Reid. He had surely heard her question about Tobias. As Reid looked up, he felt and saw Hotch’s dark eyes. Protective sympathy and love flooded Aaron’s face. It hit Reid like an arrow through the heart. It was perfectly obvious to him now, from a distance. Even then, Hotch had loved Reid, quietly, deeply, and completely. His every move had expressed that love. This realization wrapped around Reid’s heart and squeezed tightly. He cleared his throat, and shared a twitch of a smile with Hotch before turning his attention back to Davies. 

“It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?” Davies wondered. “You’ve taken on this overwhelming feeling of guilt because somewhere down inside, you feel like you failed him.” She stared at Reid, studying his face to see if she had hit the mark. She was so relieved that his expression confirmed what she was feeling. 

“During the course of my confinement, I grew to understand some of what was going on inside Tobias’s mind. It was survival instinct more than anything. I learned everything I could learn, and I sympathized with him out of the desire to keep him from killing me, but also because I felt sorry for him too. If I had only been dealing with Tobias, it might have been possible to save him. Unfortunately, that isn’t how it worked out,” Reid said after he cleared his throat again. 

“Were you in love with Tobias Hankel?” Davies asked. Hotch held his breath, waiting for Reid’s answer. 

“Unequivocally, no. I cared about him as a wounded human being who needed help. My feelings were in no way romantic or sexual,” Reid said without hesitation. Davies was relieved by the response, but Hotch was even more so. Had Hotch always wondered, but been too afraid to ask? 

“I don’t have romantic feelings for Ed either, but no one believes me when I tell them that. Including Petru. I feel pity for Ed. I feel sad for him. I feel like underneath it all, he’s not a bad person, and I wish I had been able to better help him.” 

“That’s perfectly understandable.” 

“You would be the first person to say so,” Davies mused uncomfortably. 

“April, I’m not asking you to help me find Ed Trovinger. I’m asking you to help me solve Lisa Trovinger and Patricia Trovinger’s murders. By doing that, maybe we will both come to a better understanding of what’s going on in Ed’s head. Where I go beyond that, I will not ask you to lead or to follow. Once you help me solve these murders, I will ask no more of you, no more than you are willing to give,” Reid offered. 

“I don’t understand Ed any better than you do. You’re the profiler, Dr. Reid. I’m a librarian.” 

Reid was annoyed that Davies didn’t have more faith in herself and her abilities. She wanted to hide here in the library forever, but that wouldn’t change the fact that April Davies was capable of so much more than she thought she was. This was about more than hiding from the world. Davies had come back here to hide from her own self doubt. 

“Don’t you ever under estimate yourself,” Reid scolded tenderly “You survived a harrowing situation, against all odds and all reason. Who better than you has had a view into Ed’s world, into his mind? How many times since he released you has he contacted you?” Reid asked. He knew it in his bones. The connection between Trovinger and Davies ran both ways. It was a platonic emotional connection, but it was a strong one. 

“Twice. He sent me a teddy bear for Christmas. A few days ago, he mailed me a second package. He’s been doing his research. He knew it was my birthday,” April admitted. 

Hotch gasped loudly from the end of the shelves where he was lurking. Reid sensed Hotch’s fury, felt it like a shock wave. Hotch took one step towards Reid and Davies, but Reid shot him this warning look that said in no uncertain terms that he had better keep his distance. Reid was making progress with Davies, but if Hotch stormed up to them and started bawling April out, all that progress was going to be lost. Aaron knew that too. Very reluctantly, he went back around the corner. 

“Has Ed been stalking you?” Reid asked Davies. Hotch’s angry breathing was audible. 

“Goodness no. But he did find out where I moved. My dad wanted me to come home to Syracuse. I only went as far as Dale City. I wanted my job back. Thank you, by the way.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Reid blushed and babbled. How had Davies learned about that? 

“Of course you don’t. Thank you anyway,” Davies said. It was clear from her smile that she was charmed by his modesty. Reid couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. 

“I had no hand in your reinstatement,” he flat-out lied to her. The Brass were smiling down on Reid because of his hard work on the Gorsuch case, and the positive national attention that had been showered on the FBI for bringing a dangerous killer to justice. They were giving him a lot of latitude at the moment, letting him come back to work when by all rights he should have been on leave for another six months at the lease. They were offering him all manner of pats on the head and a hearty round of attaboys. Reid had merely chosen to parlay their good will into gaining forgiveness for Agent Davies too, convincing the Brass to let her return to work as well. But how had Davies learned the details of a closed-door, confidential meeting? 

“You spoke up for me, and the Brass listened to you. Accept my gratitude, and stop being so modest, butthead.” 

“What did Ed send to you for your birthday?” Reid wondered, deflecting her praise shyly. 

“Some of his favorite books, a box of Godiva chocolates, and an apology. There seemed a finality to the gesture. I had thought he was saying his last goodbyes.” 

‘Last goodbyes’, Reid pondered with a gulp. “May I examine…” he asked anxiously as the realization struck. Trovinger had written to Davies! He had physically written to her! A letter? A card? An email? No, not an email. He had delivered a package to her door. His message was hand-written. It had to be! If the card or note or letter had been done by hand, there would be samples to analyze, paper to study, pen choice, ink type, fingerprints, transfer evidence even. Reid was giddy with the possibilities, all the clues that could be determined from that sample, if he could talk Davies into letting him have the letter! 

“No,” Davies frowned. Reid frowned back. 

“I could subpoena…” he sulked. 

“You could, at the risk of my eternal disgruntlement,” April growled. Reid backed down. He was puzzled by her adamant insistence. What could possibly have been in that letter? Why was she so determined to keep it private? Davies’ eyes went straight to Reid’s rings, and then over to Hotch’s location. Her eyes came back to Reid’s rings. Spencer felt a chill in his spine.

Reid picked up another book. He gently nudged the ladder along the rails until Davies was in the appropriate place to shelf another text. They had moved closer to the end of the row, closer to where Hotch was standing. Aaron gave Davies a taste of the patented Hotchner Death Glare before turning away again. Reid could tell that Hotch was fuming. There was going to be a testy exchange of words later, no doubt about it. 

Davies was lucky she hadn’t been brought up on more serious charges, such as aiding and abetting a fugitive, or obstruction of justice. Most of the agents working the case were being patient with her because of the harrowing experience she had endured. But their patience was not going to hold out forever. Sooner or later, she was going to have to aid in this investigation, or there could be very serious consequences. Reid didn’t want to see Davies wind up in federal prison in order to protect Ed Trovinger.

Reid had a sense that Davies knew exactly what was at stake here though. She had a brilliant mind, and she was intuitive. April knew that Reid was giving her an opening, one they could both benefit from her taking. She slid the book into place, and studied him seriously. 

“I’ll help you solve Lisa and Patricia’s murders if I can. But I won’t help you find Ed Trovinger,” Davies conceded. Reid nodded, forcing himself to look serious as well. It wasn’t a full victory, but it was a start. It was more than anyone else had been able to secure. 

“Thank you, Agent Davies,” Reid replied. She nodded back to him. "By the way, do you remember Madeline Hobble?" 

Davies was surprised by the name. It didn’t take her a second to place who Reid meant. 

"Madeline from ICU?" she questioned. 

"Yes. She was down the hall from me. The nurse we questioned said you and Ed stood at her window, and she thought you were there to visit the child."

"Yes, I remember Madeline,” Davies confirmed with a tremble. 

"I thought you'd want to know that an anonymous benefactor donated $250,000 towards her hospital bills," Reid murmured. 

He couldn’t have hoped for a better response. Davies smiled proudly; she positively beamed. Just as quickly though, she was fighting tears and sobs. She covered her trembling mouth and gulped to push everything down as it welled up inside her. She gasped twice, hard sounds. Reid tentatively put a hand on Davies’ arm. 

"No one is beyond redemption," Reid promised. 

That was the key. April had needed to hear those words. Davies was sticking to her bargain with Trovinger in order to protect Reid, but she was also hoping to protect Trovinger as well. She cared about Ed. She genuinely cared about him. She had seen inside his heart, and she firmly believed that if someone reached out to him, he would stop what he was doing and turn himself in. April dried her face, nodding quickly. 

Reid gave her a moment to collect herself. He picked up a couple of tomes from the push cart, and walked back down the row to find their places. 

“Oh, be careful. That shelf has a scratch in it. I wonder who put that there,” Spencer remarked as he caressed the wood with his fingertips, putting his nose nearly against the sweet and much-beloved books. 

This was the spot, the very spot, where he had met Aaron Hotchner for the first time. Spencer stood on the tiles and caressed the scar in the wooden shelf, thinking on how lovers of old would sit beneath a particular tree and carve their initials in the bark to commemorate the union of their love. Davies touched the mark on the shelf as well, not knowing why Reid was smiling so cryptically. 

“Call me later, sir, after my shift is over. We’ll arrange a time and place. Not at work. Not in the box. Is that okay?” she pleaded. 

“If I call later, will you answer?” Reid wondered. “Do I have your correct phone number? I am beginning to wonder.”

“You do have the correct number. Sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I will definitely answer if I know it’s you calling,” Davies promised. 

April gathered her push cart of books and headed away from Reid, but not very far away. As she passed Hotch at the end of the row of shelves, Davies paused for a millisecond. Aaron and April glared at each other. She said, “Sir,” and kept walking. 

Davies went as far as a nearby table, where she stopped her cart ostensibly to pick up a couple books which had been left out. She really was more interested in watching Hotch and Reid interact with one another. There was no denying the sadness in her eyes. 

A particular book on an upper shelf caught Reid’s attention. It was just beyond his long reach. Hotch pushed the shelf ladder towards Reid and held it steady on both sides. 

“I can’t believe you got her to agree to talk to you, you tricky bastard,” Hotch said. “It’s okay, baby. It’s not hard. Left, right, left,” he soothed when he saw Reid’s nervous glance at the shelf ladder. Spencer felt himself go cold at the prospect of climbing that ladder and falling on his face in front of all these people. Hotch wasn’t going to take no for an answer though, so Reid approached the ladder. 

“Left, right, left,” Reid repeated, picking up one foot, then the other, climbing slowly. He jolted when he felt Hotch’s hand in the small of his back, under his jacket, against his shirt. Reid wobbled, and grabbed the book quickly. He pressed it to his chest and came back down in an awkward drop. 

“That’s it,” Hotch murmured, patting him on the back and keeping his thin frame steady. It was more than keeping Reid upright though. These intimate touches were about demonstrating his ownership of Reid, showing a potential competitor that this man was already spoken for. Hotch made sure Davies saw how and where he was touching his husband. He was reinforcing their relationship in front of her to demonstrate that Reid was strictly off-limits. Reid would have been terribly angry if it weren’t for the fact these were primordial reactions, Hotch’s involuntary, lower-brain response to having his marital territory and sexual property threatened. Hotch wasn’t conscious of what he was doing. Davies was sure conscious of his message though. 

“Galileo’s Discourse on Falling Bodies,” Reid purred happily, holding the book close to his chest like an old friend. “Do you remember this place?” Spencer asked, with large eyes and a hopeful smile. As irritating as he found Hotch’s jealous streak, Reid would never deny that he was also very flattered too. This man was his. This handsome, roguish, intelligent, desirable man belonged to him. No matter how many times Reid went over the thought in his head, he couldn’t believe it wasn’t a dream. 

Hotch grinned boyishly in reply. His stern expression vanished as he babbled, “Do I remember?! We met right here, right on this spot, almost fourteen years ago.”

Hotch had said it loud enough for Davies to have heard. 

“You do remember then?” Reid whispered. He couldn’t help but be touched, in spite of the sad longing on April’s face. 

“How could I ever forget? You may even be wearing the same clothes!” Hotch smiled, caressing the scar on Reid’s right eyebrow. 

“I most certainly am not,” Reid protested. 

“You were climbing around, talking to the books. Gideon grabbed your leg to get your attention. You screamed and fell.”

“I did fall, but I did not scream,” Reid pouted. Davies was almost smiling over their exchange.

“You screamed. You wailed. You all but shrieked. You smacked this shelf on your way down, and then damned near killed Jason Gideon with this very ladder. I have one question for you, Dr. Reid?”

“What’s that, Agent Hotchner?” 

“Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven, angel?” Hotch asked with a charming smile and half-lidded, bedroom eyes, touching his nose to Reid's nose. That was the last barrier to be crossed – face to face physical contact was one of the strongest social cues that two persons were in a committed relationship and not available to other mates. 

“I can’t believe you said that with a straight face,” Reid moaned in anguish at the corny remark, but he was smiling broadly. He was surprised that Hotch was being this open, in public, and at work no less? What was Aaron thinking? Hotch’s laugh was deep and rich, and it echoed around them. Several other patrons turned to stare at Hotch and Reid, not just Davies. Hotch didn’t care what anyone thought though. All he cared about was reassuring Reid of how much their relationship meant to him. Spencer’s heart thumped happily in reply. He wasn’t used to this – being spoiled with overt displays of affection. It was embarrassing and comforting at the same time. 

“Bring Galileo along. You can read to me on the way to Fairfax,” Hotch said. He gave Reid his cane, put an arm around him, and guided him towards the library exit.


	4. Weather Front

4 - Weather Front 

 

“Boss, what is going on with the wiring in the offices? Did you know they were planning this?” Torg wondered. 

Karl’s blue eyes left the road for a second or two as he glanced into the backseat, where Hotch and Reid were sitting side by side. Reid had his satchel on his lap, and he was awash in folders and files and pages and evidence photos. Hotch had at long last allowed Reid open access to the copious files on Edward Trovinger, and Spencer was devouring the information like a ravenous beast. 

By comparison, Hotch was tidy and stark, sitting up straight, shoulders back. Under normal circumstances, Hotch would have driven the SUV, or he would have been in the front passenger seat. But he had wanted to be close to Reid while Spencer was combing through the evidence. Reid didn’t show any visible signs of distress at seeing the evidence photos and reports, including pictures of himself and Bessie, but Hotch was wise enough to know that Reid was going to conceal whatever he was feeling. Reid knew if Hotch saw any signs of upset, the file would be taken away again, and Reid would be pulled from the case for his own good. So Reid was muffling his emotional responses. He plowed through the pages and photos as if he were studying complete strangers and not intimate friends or himself. 

“No, I had no idea,” Hotch remarked sharply. “I was as surprised as everyone else this morning.” 

“All this fuss over electrical wiring? Why would the Brass care that the BAU department needs renovations? Dr. Lind must have had a good reason to go to all that trouble though. Tear out the walls and the wiring, clean out the offices, and stack up all the files,” Torg persisted. 

“We’ve never had any trouble with the wiring,” Hotch snorted. 

“Do you think she was doing a sweep?” Torg wondered. 

“A sweep for what?” Hotch asked. 

“Well, I couldn’t tell you. But it would have to be something she wanted pretty badly to go to all this trouble,” Torg offered feebly. Hotch gave a sideways smile and squinted. “Think about it, sir. By clearing out the offices, she has access to every piece of paper, every file, every case, every bit of evidence from the desk and office of every agent in the BAU, all three teams, all support staff, all of the agents who work under her.” 

“Anything she wanted to see, she could ask for. Why go to all this trouble and expense?” Hotch questioned.

“If she outright asks for what she’s after, then we all know what she’s up to. She’s cunning, that one. She wouldn’t lay it out in the open that way. I think she’s conducting an Easter egg hunt. The only question is, what’s she after?” Torg wondered. 

“Do you really think she made up the complaints about the wiring in order to rifle through our desks and offices?” Hotch asked Torg. 

“You said we haven’t had any electrical problems,” Torg shrugged. 

“That’s not entirely true,” Reid interjected softly, his eyes glued to the pages he was turning in succession. “Over the years, we have had glitches. Rossi has a lamp that flickers. Morgan has an outlet that works intermittently. JJ….” 

Reid caught himself and stopped. He raised his eyes for a second before dropping them again. The awkward silence was heavy. 

“The florescent light over her desk burns through ballasts every eight weeks,” Reid added apologetically. 

While it was clear that Jareau would not be returning to the BAU after what had happened in Maine, no one had openly discussed her continued absence. Even as angry as Reid was with Jareau, it felt wrong not to ask after her. They had once been very close friends. Reid had tried first with Morgan, but Derek had changed the subject. Torg had been willing to talk, but didn’t have any idea what was up. Karl missed JJ, but then again he didn’t. Reid could relate to Torg’s mixed feelings. If Reid could have thought of Jareau only in terms of how kind she used to be once upon a time, he might have missed her too. But they had burned too many bridges since then. Reid could not think of JJ in the present tense without seeing her wearing that snotty, twisted sneer and that nasty-nice expression, telling him he wasn’t fit for his job and that he never had been. 

Putting his own feelings aside, like wrapping a beloved dead child for burial, Reid focused on Hotch’s mood instead. Spencer could sense that something big had happened at Jareau’s exit interview last week. Reid wasn’t stupid. An exit interview meant JJ had been fired. Hotch hadn’t said the words, but that was what had happened. Aaron had not discussed the meeting because it had been confidential, just a private gathering between Hotch, Dr. Lind, JJ, JJ’s lawyer, JJ’s union rep, and two of the Bureau’s high-price, on-staff attorneys. Since that tête-à-tête had taken place, Hotch became as ominous as a rising thundercloud with any mention of Jareau. Something had been said between Hotch and JJ, and whatever it had been Hotch was positively furious with Jareau. When Reid had said JJ’s name just now, Aaron’s dark eyes had practically shot sparks in anger. 

“Is anyone else getting hungry?” Torg asked as they went past another row of fast food establishments. His eyes lingered longingly on sign after sign. 

“Are you hungry?” Hotch asked Spencer, touching his arm. 

“I could eat,” Reid nodded. 

“Yah!” Torg smiled. “Where are we headed?” he asked, fingers poised above the turn signal. 

“Why don’t we head over to our place and have lunch there?” Reid suggested. “It’s not five miles away. There’s a fridge full of food. We’re supposed to be telecommuting while the offices are being repaired. Why don’t we head home? If that’s all right with everyone?”

“Works for me!” Torg said brightly. 

“Left up ahead,” Hotch told Torg. “I’d like to have everyone on the team coordinate from our house, if you feel comfortable with that,” Aaron said to Spencer. 

“Yes. I’m comfortable with that. I thought about asking Agent Davies to meet me at home later, actually,” Reid murmured, checking Hotch’s response. After his initial flinch of annoyance, Aaron nodded in agreement. 

“We can interrogate her in the dining room.” 

“Hotch, this isn’t going to be an interrogation. It’s going to be a cognitive interview. In fact, I’m not sure you should be there. I’d prefer to talk to April on my own.”

Aaron’s brows bunched up. “That’s a horrible idea,” Hotch grumbled. 

“Why?” 

“You’re sending Agent Davies all the wrong signals, Dr. Reid.”

“I’m what? The signal I intend to relay is that I understand her, and I want to help her. I want her to understand that it’s okay for her to help me, in as much as doing so will not betray her bargain with Edward Trovinger. Whether you like her or not, we need her help.” 

“This is not about me not liking Agent Davies. I know we need Davies to solve this case, but you’re going about this the wrong way. She doesn’t see this as working a case. She sees this as an opportunity to get closer to you. You’re giving her false hope at the possibility of what there could be between you two. She is in love with you, Spencer.” 

“I have never insinuated that she and I could be romantically involved, nor do I believe that is what Agent Davies wants. I am extending a hand in friendship and compassion to a colleague who is desperately in need of both,” Reid countered. “You don’t trust me alone with her? You don’t trust her alone with me? You don’t trust us alone together? Which is it?” 

“It’s not that at all,” Hotch lied. “I need to be there as team leader, that’s all. It’s my case.” 

“SSA Schultz is the agent in charge of the Edward Trovinger case,” Reid reminded Hotch coolly. Aaron didn’t like one bit having that fact thrown in his face. Redness was creeping up his collar and into his jawline. 

“I should be there,” Hotch continued to insist.

“I am afraid that having you there will impede my progress.” 

“Do you know that for sure?” Hotch muttered. 

Reid’s brows flattened, and his eyes narrowed. 

“It’s inappropriate for you to question Davies alone,” Hotch continued. 

Reid’s eyes got even narrower. 

“Federal regulations stipulate that ….” Hotch started to quote. Reid interrupted him. 

“Which female agent do you want me to have there? Dr. Lind intimidates Agent Davies.” 

“What about Garcia?” Hotch offered. Reid shook his head no. 

“If this case had anything to do with computers, I would be more than willing to accept Garcia. However, this case does not hinge on Garcia’s area of expertise. Further more, she’s not trained as a profiler. To be plainly honest, her outlandish and childish personality clashes entirely with Agent Davies’ own staid and quiet personality. Davies finds Garcia very off-putting and immature. They have nothing in common, and would likely not connect on a personal level. I believe bringing them together would result in Davies retreating away again.”

“Penelope questioned Davies before,” Hotch pointed out petulantly. 

“With absolutely zero results,” Reid pointed back. “Davies relates best to me. I should be the one to conduct this cognitive interview.”

“What about Morgan?” 

“Not a good choice.” 

“Why not?” 

“Why are you dead-set against me conducting this interview?” Reid demanded, folding away the pages he was shuffling around. 

“What about Dr. Blake? You and Blake have similar personalities, so it stands to reason that Blake and Davies should hit it off well. Why don’t I ask Dr. Blake to sit in on your cognitive interview?” Hotch blurted. 

“You sent Blake home to review the correspondence between Trovinger and Dr. Ramirez. She’s going to be busy for quite some time. You’re positively desperate for someone else to do this interview, aren’t you? You don’t trust me.” 

“Reid, that’s not it at all.” 

“You don’t think I’m up to the job yet?” 

“Reid, quit putting words in my mouth.” 

“Quit arguing with me, and answer the question. You don’t trust me? You don’t trust Davies? Or you don’t trust us together? Which is it?” Reid asked again.

“Davies,” Hotch finally admitted. “I don’t trust Davies.” 

“Ah, progress!” Reid exclaimed, not as happy as his perky tone might have indicated. His voice changed back. “Why do you not trust Agent Davies?” 

“You mean aside from the fact she’s in love with my husband?”

“Yes, aside from that unfair and inaccurate hypothesis,” Reid nodded. 

“Davies is obstructing my progress in a federal investigation. She’s protecting the fugitive serial killer responsible for the deaths of our fellow FBI agents, the man who tried to blow you to smithereens in our driveway! She’s protecting the son of a bitch who threatened to slip into your hospital room while you were in a coma, and put a bullet in your head!” Hotch bellowed angrily. Torg almost wrecked the car in surprise at the escalation of volume. 

“Hotch…” Reid murmured, his tone conciliatory.

“You goddamn right I’m angry with her! I am seriously tired of her shit. Davies wants a pat on the head and a cookie for being a noble martyr in the name of love. Give me a fucking break.” 

“Aaron, that’s enough,” Spencer gasped, eyes wide. 

“I can’t believe the way you’re protecting her.” 

“She needs a friend.” 

“Buy her a dog!”

“This is precisely why I don’t want you anywhere near that cognitive interview. You won’t be able to put your personal biases aside.” 

“Dr. Reid, I’ve had enough of ‘your friend’ throwing up roadblocks to my case. Either Agent Davies cooperates with you, and tells you everything she knows about Edward Trovinger, or I’m going to press formal charges against her for conspiracy and obstruction of justice. Is that clear?” Hotch snapped in sharp, biting words. 

“Perfectly clear, sir,” Reid replied crossly, whipping open the uppermost file again and glaring down at the details on the page. Torg’s worried eyes were in the rearview mirror again. Hotch faced his own side of the car, eyes narrowed at passing vehicles. More than a couple drivers took one look at Hotch’s sour face and changed lanes to get away from his glare. Reid concentrated on his pages and did his best to ignore Hotch’s heavy breathing, and Torg’s frightened expression. They could have created their own weather system in the backseat, with the searing heat running up Hotch’s red face and neck and the icy cold of Reid’s annoyed disdain.

Under a minute later, Hotch sighed loudly. Regret and guilt took over his frame. Torg watched in the mirror as Aaron’s shoulders drooped. His sad eyes wandered towards Reid. Hotch traced one finger along the length of Reid’s nearest forearm. Up and down, and back again. Up and down, and back again. Spencer was undeniably peeved, but he took Hotch’s hand. Their fingers knitted together quietly. Hotch drew Reid’s hand towards himself, all the while looking sheepish and ashamed.

“Which way from here?” Torg asked at the next stoplight. Hotch was playing with Reid’s rings, turning them around on his thin finger. 

“Go right,” Hotch finally replied.


	5. Home Front

5 - Home Front

 

“Is that an actual, honest-to-God, VW minivan?”

Reid paused at the approach of feet and the sound of an unfamiliar voice. From beneath the vehicle up on jacks, he could see three pairs of feet come into the garage out of the light rain. There were sensible flats, running shoes, and a size 13 men’s pair of standard-issue military combat boots. 

The sensible flats belonged to Agent April Davies. Size 8, dark blue in color. They were nice but not expensive shoes. She was the furthest back of the three people who had entered, and she kept herself slightly behind the person wearing the running shoes. A protective figure then? Someone Davies trusted and leaned on for support? 

The size 13 combat boots belonged to Hank Honeywell. He was growing more self-assured about his position among Reid’s surveillance team since he had first been assigned to the detail. He had learned to stop trying to be funny with Captain Spaulding, at the very least. Honeywell was a good soldier, someone Reid was growing to like, the more he learned about him. Hank was good with kids, didn’t pry into personal matters, and was very diligent about his tasks. Honeywell had endured every manner of pun, joke, guffaw, and poke at his last name, and took it all in stride. He squatted down on his beefy haunches and peered under the vehicle at Reid, handing the doctor a clean shop cloth for his hands. Intuitive – that best described Honeywell. 

So who was the third person? Reid slid off the drop cloth and to the side, wiping his hands as he scooted along. There was oil and grime along the curves of his fingernails, and a patch of something gooey on his left middle finger. He scrubbed at his hands, let his eyes adjust to the light. Of course. Davies had brought her father. Reid stood up and extended a hand to Mr. Davies. Words flowed from his mouth as he watched Mr. Davies’ reaction to the icky-sticky handshake. Mr. Davies didn’t flinch in the slightest. He grabbed Reid’s hand and pumped his arm quite vigorously. 

The vehicle is a 1965 Type 2 Volkswagen Kombi. I bought it in Maine,” Reid said.

"I see they closed in some of the windows?” Mr. Davies asked. 

“With detachable panels,” Reid nodded. “I intend to remove some, to allow for better visibility.”

“Good plan. Manual, I assume. Where’s the stick?” 

“ ‘Four on the Floor’,” Reid replied. 

“Four. Of course. In some later models, they did a ‘Three on the Tree’,” Mr. Davies said. April tittered softly behind the protection of her father’s shadow. 

“Dr. Reid, I can’t believe you bought a hippie van,” she mused. 

Reid pretended offense, but he was privately amused. Those had been Hotch’s exact words too, although Aaron had used a few colorful explicatives for emphasis. Davies met Reid’s gaze and moved away again, masking the move by walking slowly around the bedraggled, beige and white minivan which had once belonged to Ms. Harmony. Davies’ father moved around the vehicle with April. The similarity between them fascinated Reid for a long pause. 

Mr. Davies was taller and broader than April was, and he was in excellent shape. She had inherited many of her physical characteristics from her father – her hair color and texture, her nose, her slightly-round face, her shoulders, her stocky build. He wore glasses, not the same style naturally, but the effect was the same, to break up their long faces into more visually-pleasing sections. Mr. Davies had a cultured look and sharp eyes – he was educated, intelligent, and observant. He was clearly ex-military too, and had a forceful, no-nonsense bearing. He did not walk in the same fashion that April did. There was no glancing at the ground, eyes shyly diverted, no fussing with the edges of his clothes, or pushing back of his hair as Agent Davies was prone to do. Mr. Davies was protective of his daughter. He kept near to her. He was here with her for what could prove to be a very traumatic experience. That said enough about him to reassure Reid about his personality. 

“I haven’t seen one of these since elementary school. My favorite art teacher drove one. Ms. Bair. My god. She was the coolest adult on the planet,” Mr. Davies chuckled softly as he walked around the beige and white van, tutting and clucking. “You’re going to need to replace the mirror on this side. There’s rust on the neck here. I know a couple of websites where you might be able to scrounge up original parts. You could go with the traditional pear-shaped mirror. Maybe the square one from Germany would be better though, because it will give you a fuller view. Of course, if you replace the one on this side, you’ll need to replace the left one too. But you already know that, of course.” 

Reid remained at the back of the van, waiting as they made their circuit. He opened the engine compartment, and April cringed when she got a look inside. 

"Oh, that’s a mess,” she winced. “It’ll have to be rebuilt from the chassis up before it’s safe to drive, Dr. Reid.” 

“I like a challenge,” Reid shrugged. 

"This baby is a real trip down memory lane,” Mr. Davies was smiling when he made it all the way around.

“It’s a trip, all right,” April chuckled again. 

Honeywell interjected grimly, “The only thing holding that exhaust system on there is bailing wire and superglue.” 

“The exhaust system will require special attention,” Reid agreed. 

“On the bright side, the headlights have been replaced, and recently too,” Mr. Davies added. 

“Yes, they have,” Reid confirmed. “I did that first thing, along with installing deer horns.” 

“Headlights? Bright side? Daaaad,” April groaned. Her father snickered, amused with his own pun. In spite of his serious demeanor, he was showing that he had a sense of humor. 

“Does it still have an 8-track deck in it?” Mr. Davies wondered. Reid laughed, shaking his head no. “Too bad! That would have been so groovy.”

“Embarrassing,” April laughed, shaking her head as her dad moved back and forth to stare inside the vehicle. 

“Perhaps you and Ensign Honeywell would like to make a suggestion list while Agent Davies and I talk inside?” Reid murmured. He handed a nearby spiral notebook and pen to his surveillance guard. Honeywell quickly started jotting notes, shaking his head as he wrote. 

“It’s never going to pass state inspection,” Hank lamented. He moved behind April. Reid caught the expression on her face. Her humor vanished. She was suddenly afraid. She moved a step closer to her father. Mr. Davies put an arm around her shoulders. 

“I’ll stick with April, if that’s all the same to you,” he said. 

“Sure. That’s fine. Let’s head inside out of the rain then,” Reid suggested. “Would you like tea or coffee, or something stronger to drink?” he asked.

“That’d be great,” Mr. Davies beamed. 

“Bring you anything?” Reid asked Honeywell. 

“No thanks. I’m good,” Hank replied. Reid nodded in reply, then navigated across the path towards the back stoop. 

The kitchen door opened to the sound of meowing. Goody darted past, bumping both Reid’s legs on his way down the stoop, across the backyard, and straight inside the barn. Reid grabbed the railing and stood upright. 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into my cat. He’s been hiding in the barn day and night lately,” Reid commented.

“Is he a mouser?” Mr. Davies asked. “Maybe he found a nest.” 

“Possibly,” Reid agreed. 

“Has he brought you any gifts?” 

“Gifts?” 

“Dead things. It’s a sign of great affection.” 

“Dad,” April grimaced. “That’s gross.” 

“He brought a live chipmunk into the house once,” Reid remembered with a smile the way Hotch had been running back and forth around the dining room and TV room, empty shoebox in hand, moving big furniture to capture the rodent and take it outside again. All the while, Reid had watched calmly from the settee upstairs. “Tea?” he asked. He carefully set the tea pot on the stove, and then set about washing his hands thoroughly and completely to remove any trace of oil or garage grime from them. 

“We had a cat who used to leave dead birds on the back porch. Boxey. He was a big orange tom. When we buried the birds, he got angry. Moved up to rabbits. He left those in the hallway. When we buried the rabbits, Boxey moved up to snakes. He left a live garden snake in Mom’s shoe. Well that was the end of that. Dad took out the cat door, and Boxey disappeared. Not sure what happened to him,” April frowned, her brow furrowing as she glanced at her dad for explanation. 

“Your mom adopted Boxey out to a friend of hers who had a farm upstate. She thought Boxey might be more suited to barn life, which he was, as it turned out,” Mr. Davies replied. 

April nodded, although a look of hurt crossed her face. Was the upset because of what her mother had done with her cat? Or was it because no one had ever told her the truth about it until now? Reid found it curious that it was Davies’ father who had accompanied her here and not her mother. He would have expected a girl to be closer to her mother than her father. He knew April had a sister Jo, but he was under the impression they were not very close. It was an interesting family dynamic. Two children, two parents – there were bound to be divisions and rivalry. Of course, if April’s mother was the sort who would get rid of her daughter’s cat and not tell her what had actually happened to him, maybe there was a very good reason why April didn’t want her mother here. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Boxey was fine. Mitch was a statistics officer Mom worked with. He took great care of Boxey. He actually calculated that within three years of Boxey’s arrival on the farm, forty percent of the new kittens were orange-striped tabbies. That cat lived a long and happy life,” Mr. Davies offered to cheer April up. It worked, to a certain degree. Where April had been too nervous to ever ask her mother what had happened to her cat, she was willing to believe whatever her father told her. That spoke of a good relationship between them. Reid was relieved that she had at least one reliable parent to depend on. 

“Goody is fixed,” Reid replied, hunting through the mugs now that his hand were clean. He set three mugs down on the counter. “I think he’s fixed. I’ll check if he’s fixed,” Spencer decided quietly, almost to himself. 

"How’s your mom?” Davies wondered. 

“I have not heard from her yet,” Reid answered. 

“Have you called her?” April wondered. 

“Her doctors recommend that I do not call her. She is in a facility. Schizophrenia,” Reid added as an aside to Mr. Davies. April’s father nodded, and showed no other reaction, meaning that April had probably discussed Reid and his mother with her father previously. They were staring collectively at the tea pot, waiting for the water to boil. April cleared her throat and asked another question. 

“Have you heard from your daughter?” 

“Mouse sent me an email about a week ago – she was terribly excited because she had seen me on TV, in the background at a press conference. Yulia sent me more pelmeni.”

“Mm… lucky you! She’s a fantastic cook!”

“Mouse is currently on her school trip with the botany club. They’ve gone to California to the Sequoia National Forest. Everyone had to leave their phones, iPads, laptops, and electronic devices at home. They were allowed to bring cameras, but that’s it. Once the trip is over, she promises to call me,” Reid rambled happily. 

“How old is your daughter?” Mr. Davies asked. 

“Thirteen in March,” Reid smiled. 

“I remember you at that age. You had pigtails still. I miss your pigtails,” Mr. Davies whispered to April, who gave him a wounded frown. 

“Daaaaaad…..” 

Two pairs of heavy feet echoed through the dining room. It was Hotch and Torg. They had been upstairs teleworking in the study. Hotch marched through the kitchen like a storm trooper. As Reid had predicted, April Davies’ body language altered dramatically. Her eyes dropped to the floor. She stuck close to her father’s side. She kept out entirely out of Hotch’s reach. 

“We’re headed out,” Hotch interjected himself, putting a hand on Reid’s waist, dotting a kiss on his cheek. “I need to go track down a couple more files at the office. Need anything while we’re out? Hello. I’m Agent Hotchner. You must be Mr. Davies?”

“Clarence,” Mr. Davies said, shaking Hotch’s extended hand. He did not look at all happy to meet Hotch, but he wasn’t confrontational or rude to him. 

“Pleasure to meet you. Sorry we can’t stay. On the way through. Forget we were even here. Call me if you need anything. Bye then,” Hotch rambled. He swatted Reid on the backside before closing the door and disappearing. 

Aaron had purposefully dominated the entire room from the moment he stepped into the kitchen to the second he opened the back door to leave. In contrast, Torg sheepishly streaked through the kitchen, nodding politely to April Davies, and to her father. He hurried outside in Hotch’s wake, armful of folders clutched to his chest. He might have been a ghost for the way he went through virtually unnoticed. 

Reid quietly sipped his tea, and glared daggers at Hotchner’s departing figure as Aaron headed for the SUV in the driveway. Reid’s backside tingled from the roughness of the swat. Hotch glanced up over the SUV and grinned wickedly at Spencer. 

Outside, Torg dropped the folders in the rear seat and slammed the back door. He opened the front passenger door and climbed into the seat. Hotch jumped in the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. When he tried to turn over the engine, sparks shot violently out of the engine compartment. Hotch glared out over the steering wheel for half a second, and tried stubbornly to start the vehicle, shooting more sparks. 

The kitchen door banged open with such force that it stayed back against the house. In spite of his awkward gait, Reid raced to the driveway, where he yanked the passenger door open. He bodily tossed Torg onto the ground. The young agent rolled back on the wet dirt and grass, and gaped in utter shock as Reid leapt into the vehicle and started yanking on Hotch, pulling him with all his might, screaming and shouting. Reid was clawing frantically, trying to unhook Hotch’s seatbelt, fighting against Hotch’s attempts to take his hands. 

In response, Hotch put both arms around Reid, and tugged him through the vehicle, out onto the ground on the driver’s side. Reid scrambled to his feet and strained as he dragged Hotch to the far side of the driveway. He stood protectively in front of Aaron. His wild eyes remained centered on the SUV as he panted for breath. Hank Honeywell emerged from the garage, wiping his hands on a shop cloth. 

“Doc, is everything all right?” Hank wondered. Reid blanched white as death. Hotch got to his feet and dusted off his ass, reaching over to close the car door. Reid frantically pulled Hotch’s arm back again. 

“Reid? The starter’s been acting up. It’s nothing to worry about,” Hotch said as he put his hands on Reid’s quivering shoulders. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m all right.” 

Reid wobbled. His legs folded under him. He sat down on the wet driveway with a squeak of despair. Hotch went down with him. April Davies and her father stood on the back stoop and did their best not to stare, but that was utterly impossible under the circumstances. Torg moved quickly and quietly away from the SUV, forgetting all about his folders.

“You can take my car,” Hank offered, digging for his keys. Hotch shook his head. 

“Never mind. I’ll get the files tomorrow,” Aaron murmured. He moved in front of Reid and blocked his view of the SUV. Hotch lifted Spencer’s chin and stared into his haunted eyes. “Reid? Reid?” 

At first Reid’s face was vacant, but then his eyes slowly focused on Hotch’s face and voice.


	6. A Good Front

6 - A Good Front

 

Reid gulped down his second drink. The shrinking ice cubes were rattling in the glass because his hands were shaking. Hotch didn’t ask any stupid questions. He retrieved the drained tumbler, and replenished the ice. He tipped up a bottle of Glenfiddich and a bottle of Drambuie, and he didn’t stop pouring until he reached the brim. 

Aaron handed the tumbler back to Spencer, and sat down beside him on the big comfy leather sofa in the TV room. Reid gulped half the contents of the glass before pausing for a breath. Hotch scooted sideways, and put an arm around Reid’s waist. Spencer was beginning to calm. He leaned himself into Hotch’s body and stayed there. 

“Do I make a great Rusty Nail or what?” Hotch murmured. Reid hiccupped in reply. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Aaron continued, slipping the glass from Reid’s hand and setting it carefully on the coffee table. Reid picked it back up and held it tight. 

Hotch glanced at the doorway. Jack was seated at the dining room table, nibbling on cookies and doing his homework. His eyes darted over to his parents to see what was going on. Hotch smiled reassuringly at Jack. His son did not look the least bit convinced. Aunt Jessica’s voice could be heard in the kitchen. 

“Aaron? Your fridge. It’s so organized.” 

“The chicken nuggets are in the freezer,” Jack called out.

“You’re not having chicken nuggets for dinner,” Aunt Jessica called back. “Is this chili?” she asked.

“Yes,” Aaron answered. 

Agent Davies and her father had quietly left while Hotch had been attempting to calm Reid’s rattled nerves. Torg had left as well. Presumably he could have caught a ride with April and her father. Hank Honeywell remained close at hand in case he was needed, nosing around in the garage. In the meantime, Aunt Jessica had brought Jack home from school, and had popped inside to check on Aaron and Spencer. The miserable, wet evening fell over them like a soggy gray blanket. 

Hotch heard the microwave churning and humming. Aunt Jessica appeared at the door to the TV room. She was slipping into her coat. Her eyes were glued to Reid. 

“Should you be giving him that much to drink? It’ll go straight to his head, especially on an empty stomach,” Aunt Jessica commented. Hotch rubbed small circles in the small of Reid’s back. Spencer stared emptily at the floor in front of him. 

“Hi,” Reid said softly.

“Hi,” Jessica replied. 

“He’ll be okay. Do you want another, hon?” Aaron murmured. Reid shook his head no, but he did finish every last drop that was in his glass. 

“Do you need me to stay?” Aunt Jessica added to Aaron. 

“No, thanks, that’s sweet of you,” Hotch answered. He stood up and walked with her to the back door. 

“Don’t forget this weekend. Mom and Dad are picking Jack up at my place on Friday night. They’ll bring him back Monday after school.”

“We’ll get his go-bag ready,” Hotch promised. 

“Good night, Reid. Good night, Jack,” Jessica called out. 

“Night, Aunt Jess,” Jack called back. 

Hotch stepped out into the yard to talk to Jessica. The ding of the microwave brought Reid out of his dark thoughts. He ran a hand through his wild hair, tidied his suit jacket, and headed for the kitchen. Jack immediately followed him. 

“Do you want me to set the table, Papa?” Jack asked. 

“Yes, please,” Reid replied. He tested the bowl in the microwave, stirred the contents, and put it back in for another two minutes. Then he mechanically helped Jack retrieve plates and bowls, following behind the youngster around the table. Reid carefully stacked Jack’s homework to one end of the table and adjusted the placemats at the other end. They set places for three, and returned for spoons and glasses. 

“Everything okay, Papa?” Jack asked. Reid put on a small smile, and nodded quietly. 

“Yes. How was school?” Reid asked.

“Okay. How was work?” 

“Okay,” Reid lied, fighting back a gulp. 

Hearing the starter in Hotch’s SUV click and refuse to turn over, and watching it shoot sparks, had conjured dreadful visions of explosions and blackness in Reid’s mind. Spencer wasn’t sure if they were actual memories of the explosion that had almost killed him and Magnusson, or if his brain was providing data from other explosions he had seen. Either way, hearing that awful sound again, all Reid could imagine was that Hotch’s SUV was about to go sky-high. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t function, as he was overwhelmed with horrid visions of Hotch’s dead body, ripped apart and burned beyond recognition, pieces of Aaron thrown all over their driveway. Reid remembered jumping from the back stoop, and then he remembered sitting on the cold, wet driveway with Hotch right in his face, shaking him back to reality. Everything in between was as nebulous as the acrid black smoke in his dreams. 

“You’re working on math again?” Reid asked Jack. 

“Most of the class flunked the test, so we’re reviewing the chapter on long division. What about you? Did you get a case?” 

“Yes,” Reid replied, and left it at that. He didn’t want to stir up any bad memories for Jack. Considering what the youngster had been through, he was making remarkable progress. Reid didn’t want to endanger that progress, so he kept his thoughts to himself. 

The microwave dinged, and Reid went to check the chili. Jack’s backpack bleated. He jumped with excitement. He yanked open his school bag to hunt for Reid’s old cell phone. Spencer watched him from the doorway. 

“Hello?” Jack said anxiously. His small face lit up with excitement. “Hi, Mia,” he whispered. Reid had let Jack keep his old cell phone because it made the boy very happy, and Reid was all about making Jack happy. Jack disappeared into the TV room and closed the doors in order to continue his conversation. Reid returned to the kitchen to retrieve crackers from the pantry, and shredded cheese and sour cream from the fridge. Hotch's five-alarm firehouse chili required a touch of coolness to dampen the heat. 

Hotch came back inside, pausing long enough to wipe his feet on the mat. He and Reid exchanged a quick glance. Hotch stood behind Reid, rubbing both his shoulders, dotting a kiss on the back of his head. Spencer stopped digging in the fridge. 

“Hotch, I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“All right. No pressure,” Aaron agreed reluctantly. He helped Reid carry items to the table. They both knew what had gone through Reid’s head, and Hotch understood why Reid didn’t want to hash out those ghastly fears. Reid was concerned that Hotch was going to chuck him off this case if he showed even a hint of weakness. Therefore as much as talking might have helped alleviate some of his fears, Reid shoved those horrid visions back down inside his mind, hid them even from himself as much as he could. Hotch snatched up a saltine and glanced around for Jack. Spencer pointed quietly to the TV room, and made a motion like a phone against his ear. Hotch chuckled softly and followed Reid back to the kitchen. 

“Who is he talking to?” Hotch asked. 

“A friend from school,” Reid explained. 

“Jack? Dinner’s getting cold,” Hotch called out. “Jack!?” 

“It’s Mia,” Reid whispered. 

“Who’s Mia?” 

“A friend.” 

“Has he talked to you about Mia?” 

“He has mentioned her in passing.” 

“Whatever happened to super-cool Bobby with all the brothers?” 

“Jack hasn’t mentioned Bobby in ten days. I believe they may have had a falling out,” Reid relayed quietly. 

“Oh? Love triangle?”

“Hotch,” Reid muttered.

“Jack?!” Hotch called out again. The TV room doors opened. Jack rushed across the dining room, tossed the phone in his backpack, and climbed into his chair.

“What?” Jack asked innocently. The boy’s face was as pink as a spring peony. Hotch noted the color change and grinned. His son had all the signs of puppy love-- wide eyes, pink face, big silly grin. His eyes were practically swirling with stars and hearts. 

“How’s Mia?” Hotch wondered. 

“Fine,” Jack babbled. “She called about homework.” 

“She’s a study-buddy?” Hotch offered. 

“Yeah. A study-buddy,” Jack agreed much too quickly. Good instincts. The boy had a sense that his father wanted to tease him on the topic. 

“Have I met Mia?” Hotch asked.

“No,” Jack blurted nervously. 

“Maybe we’ll see her at parent-teacher conferences tomorrow night,” Hotch hoped. Jack went from pink to pale in seconds. 

“I doubt it,” he discouraged Hotch while shaking his head. Jack shoveled in bites of chili and avoided Hotch’s penetrating stare. Reid booted Hotch in the foot under the table. 

“Why not?” Hotch persisted, squeezing Reid’s knee. 

“Sour cream, please?” Reid said, pointing to the other side of Hotch’s setting. Aaron put a dollop on top of Reid’s chili for him, along with a few sprinkles of cheese. 

“Her mom works really late,” Jack said. “She won’t even be there.” 

“What does her mom do?” Hotch asked. 

“She’s in the army.” 

“Really?” Hotch gasped. 

“She works for the Peace Corps. That’s the army, isn’t it?” 

“Not exactly…..” Reid sighed. 

“Maybe I’ll meet her dad then,” Hotch said.

“Mia doesn’t have a dad.” 

“Are her parents divorced?” Hotch sympathized, wondering if that was why Jack and Mia were friends. Had they bonded over similar home lives? 

“Er…..” Jack paused. “Pass the crackers, please?” he squeaked. 

“Does Mia’s mom drive a blue minivan?” Reid asked as if he didn’t already know. 

“Maybe,” Jack reluctantly confirmed, crumbling several crackers on top of his bowl while ducking Hotch’s dark eyes. 

“Was that Mia you walked in with this morning?” 

“You saw that?” Jack gulped, continuing to crush saltines over his food. Reid’s eyes twinkled merrily. 

“Yes,” Reid murmured. Jack inhaled in alarm and waited, plainly scared. Reid said nothing else, nothing about how Mia had tossed her backpack on her other shoulder in order to take Jack’s hand into her own. Hotch sniffed like a bloodhound, eyes landing on Reid. Jack rifled through the saltines and started crushing them over his dinner again. 

“Jack, that’s enough crackers. You want some more chili with those? I’d love to meet Mia’s mom,” Aaron said. 

“Which one?” Jack mumbled through a bite of chili. 

Hotch paused, swallowed, and bit back a smile. 

“Mia has more than one mom?” 

“Mia has two moms, like I have two dads,” Jack said quietly. 

“Oh!” Hotch exclaimed. He was fighting another smile. At least now he knew what Jack and Mia had bonded over. 

“Some of the other kids aren’t very nice to her about it. They make fun of her. They make fun of me too for that matter. So we sit together a lot. She’s my study-buddy, like you said. She likes art. She takes dance classes after school. She has a cat named Frisky. She has a baby sister named Pia.”

"What does her mom do in the Peace Corps?" Reid asked. 

"I dunno," Jack shrugged. 

"What does her other mom do?" Hotch asked. 

"She makes people dance."

"Choreographer?" Reid offered. Jack nodded vigorously. 

“In that case, I very much want to meet Mia and both of her moms,” Hotch beamed at Jack. He reached over and tousled his son’s hair. “What about Bobby? What does he think of Mia?” 

Jack’s face clouded up. “Bobby and I don’t  
talk any more," he reported sadly.   
“Why not?” Hotch gulped, his smile fading. 

“Bobby said his dad said we can’t be friends.” 

“Sorry,” Hotch mourned. 

“Bobby’s dad thinks I’m going to give Bobby gay cooties,” Jack muttered as he rolled his eyes. “Bobby makes fun of Mia a lot. He got all jealous in Art class because Mia’s picture was chosen first place and his picture wasn’t. Bobby called Mia a dirty name, and when I stuck up for her, he called me a dirty name too.”

“What word did Bobby call you?” Reid fretted. 

“I’d rather not say,” Jack mumbled. 

“How do you know it’s a dirty word?” Hotch asked. 

“Because I’ve heard you say it before,” Jack replied. 

Reid gave Hotch a meaningful sideways glance, and Hotch had the good sense to look embarrassed. 

“I guess there will be a lot to talk about at the parent/teacher conferences tomorrow night,” Hotch murmured ominously. 

“It would seem so,” Reid murmured. 

“Dad, don’t make a scene,” Jack pleaded. Hotch put down his spoon and touched his heart as if in shock. 

“I would never make a scene,” Hotch protested. 

“I’ll die if you do anything embarrassing,” Jack said, covering his face with his hands. 

“I won’t make a scene. Cross my heart,” Hotch soothed, patting Jack on the head again. 

“Papa, you should go with Dad tomorrow night, to make sure he behaves,” Jack said. Hotch and Reid exchanged looks again. Aaron was grinning wickedly, and Spencer dropped his eyes to the table, poking at his food. 

“Jack, you greatly overestimate my ability to make your Dad behave,” Reid replied bashfully. He squeaked and jumped when Aaron tickled his knee under the table again.


	7. China Cups

7 - China Cups

 

“Let me start by saying…. oh my, what a gigantic china hutch that is!” 

Agent Davies opened her apartment door and let Reid inside, puzzled only for a moment when Captain Spaulding followed at his heels. Mr. Davies was puttering around in the kitchen area, watching a pot that was boiling on the stove. The condo smelled like chicken soup and baked bread. 

“Hi, Dr. Reid,” April laughed. “Yes. It is a big hutch.” 

“That isn’t what I wanted to say. I wanted to apologize about yesterday evening.” 

“Don’t worry about last night,” Davies insisted.

“I had a flash,” Reid explained, hands moving about frantically as he spoke, twisting together, holding, releasing, twisting again. He realized what he was doing and attached both hands to his satchel at his side. “I heard that click-click-clicking of the starter, and I panicked. Do you understand?” he wondered vulnerably. 

“Yeah. I do,” Davies nodded. “Have you had dinner?” 

“We ate at home. But thank you for the offer,” Reid smiled. “It smells wonderful.” 

“Thanks. How was the drive?” 

“The drive was fine. My ‘chauffeur’ did very well, in spite of a fact there was a car riding our butts the entire way,” Reid added with a tiny smile. 

“You should have let me lose him in traffic. It would have been so much more fun. Is that the Lady Hamilton set?” Spaulding asked as she took off her jacket. Davies hung it up in the closet by the door where Reid was also hanging his own jacket. 

“It’s the Lenora,” Davies answered softly. Reid was quite surprised when Spaulding followed Davies to the huge hutch, and they pressed their noses close to the glass doors. 

“It must have taken you forever to find all those pieces. Eight settings? 1960?”

“1962.” 

“I am looking for a replacement cup for a Mimosa set. It’s modern china, a white on white floral pattern with a silver metal band. I thought they must be kidding - $40 for one cup? Where did you find yours?” 

“They were my grandmother’s,” Davies explained quietly. “Jo and I used to play tea party with Granny’s china when we were little. When Granny passed away, Jo got one set, and I got the other,” April smiled. 

“They’re really beautiful.” 

“It’s not an expensive set,” Davies blushed. 

“No, but it’s the sentimental value that makes them special. I have two cups and saucers which once belonged to my great-great-grandmother. She was the black sheep of the family, from the tales everyone tells. She was a chorus line girl and a suffragette—oh, the shame! What?” Spaulding said blandly when she felt Reid’s eyes fill with intense curiosity. Spencer bit back a half smile and quickly shook his head.

“Nothing,” Reid burbled.

“Yes. I collect china,” Spaulding murmured slowly, absolutely daring Reid to make light. “I also collect antique dueling pistols,” she warned with narrowed eyes. 

“That, I could believe,” Reid teased playfully. 

“I have this French pair from 1810,” Spaulding gushed. “Mother-of-pearl inlay with a horseshoe motif engraved along the chambers and barrels. They’re simply exquisite. Small. Light. Deadly. The workmanship is unreal. Don’t get me started about my muff pistols.” 

“Muff pistols?” Davies questioned. 

“Derringers. They were sometimes called muff pistols because they’re so small, a woman could carry one in her muff,” Spaulding explained. 

Reid cleared his throat quietly, and suppressed another smile. He was clearly picturing something quite different and possibly racy. Spaulding shook her head at him, and Reid ducked the glance she shot his way. 

“Where do you want to do this?” Davies asked, her voice trembling slightly. 

“The front room is fine,” Reid replied, motioning to the sofa. “We should pull the curtains, and dim the lights. I want you to be relaxed. We need to remove all extemporaneous distractions." 

Mr. Davies took the boiling pot off the stove, turned down the fire, and put a lid on top. 

“How can I help?” he asked as Reid was pulling the curtains together. 

“However Agent Davies likes,” Reid answered. April took her father’s hand and sat down on the far end of the sofa. She tucked an embroidered pillow into her arms and clenched up tightly. “Try to relax,” Reid added, noting her anxious posture. 

“Should I wait here or outside?” Spaulding whispered to Reid when he stepped next to her to close the other set of living room curtains. Spencer’s eyes scanned the parking lot below. Spaulding saw what had caught his interest. There was a four-door sedan in the far end of the lot, lights off, motor purring. A dark silhouette was visible in the driver’s seat. A tail of exhaust floated into the pyramid of light under the parking lot security pole. 

“Stay here,” Reid answered softly. 

“Shall I take notes?” Spaulding mused. 

“No,” he whispered back. “May I borrow your keys for a moment?” 

“Surely,” Spaulding said as she slipped them to Reid. He pointed them out the window, and clicked the panic button of her key fob. Davies leapt up off the divan as Spaulding’s Nissan came alive, the horn blaring and the lights flashing. Reid waited a few seconds. The idling sedan turned on its lights, and pulled carefully out of the parking lot onto the side street. Spaulding and Reid watched it leave. Reid clicked the button to silence Spaulding’s wailing car. 

“Virginia plates. AJG-1459. Red 1990 Honda Accord,” Reid whispered.

“AIG-1469.”

“Are you sure?” Reid asked, squinting.

“I’m sure. Is that significant?” Spaulding asked. 

“We’ll find out later. Run both sets of numbers,” Reid promised. He faced Davies again. April was pacing back and forth. Her father was holding her hand the entire time. 

“Sweetheart, relax,” Mr. Davies whispered. 

“Maybe it would be a good idea if we went out,” April blurted. She was panting for breath suddenly. 

“If that would make you more comfortable, certainly,” Reid agreed. 

“Do you want to talk about this in a public place?” her father wondered. 

“I don’t want to talk about it at all,” Davies protested, her voice rising. 

“I promise if anything happens that makes you uncomfortable, we will stop at once,” Reid murmured.

“Let’s just get this over with,” April blurted.


	8. Evidently

8 - Evidently

 

“Dr. Reid, this is not working,” Davies said as she sat up with a huff of annoyance an hour later. Mr. Davies was pacing in the kitchen. Spaulding stood silently by the windows, with only enough of a partition to be able to see out over the parking lot. 

“Is the chicken soup bothering you? Are you hungry?” Reid wondered quietly. With the lights down and the curtains drawn, and everyone else almost holding their breath, the only sensory distraction that he could imagine would have been the smell of dinner waiting. 

“No. I’m not hungry. Feeling nauseous, actually. I just….maybe I’m just….I…just….” Davies babbled. She scooted to the end of the divan again, shaking her head. Reid straightened up. 

“Is it because I’m looming over you?” he asked. 

“No,” April sighed. “You’re not scary, Dr. Reid.” 

“Good,” Spencer whispered. He sat carefully on the divan, not too near and not too far away from Agent Davies. He felt as if the couch had swallowed his thin backside. He braced himself on either side to keep from sinking further down. His hand brushed Davies's hand, and she turned to gaze at him. Spaulding cleared her throat softly, and April pulled slowly away from Reid. “It’s not your fault. Cognitive interviews don’t work with everyone,” Spencer offered. 

“I’m so sorry to waste your time, Dr. Reid,” Agent Davies apologized. 

“Have you ever been hypnotized?” 

“Like when a magician makes you think you’re a chicken, and you walk around the stage clucking? No,” April laughed. 

“It takes a certain amount of suggestibility for this to work. It would seem you are not a suggestible person.”

“Am I too defensive?”

“No. You’re single-minded, and you’re stubborn.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Mr. Davies cackled lovingly. 

“I’m wrecking your case,” April sighed. 

“You are not wrecking my case. It’s not, strictly speaking, my case. SSA Frank Schultz is in charge of the Trovinger investigation. He’s given me permission to follow through on the murders of Lisa and Patricia Trovinger. In all likelihood, he’s done this because he doesn’t want me working on Ed’s case. He wants me to maintain an emotional distance from the incidents in November.” 

“You mean he doesn’t want you to flip out and go postal?” Agent Davies asked carefully. 

“Or freak out and yank people from their car when the starter doesn’t turn over,” Reid chuckled softly at himself. April offered a wrinkled smile and a quick nod. “Agent Davies, it’s not surprising that you have constructed an emotional barrier between yourself and what happened. It’s going to take time. But don’t worry. I’m willing to be patient with you because I know you’re going to help us solve this case in the end.” 

“I doubt Agent Hotchner shares your magnanimous patience with my predicament.” 

“He’s peeved.”

April snickered at Reid’s choice of words. 

“I’d say he’s well and truly peeved. At this point, he’s past peeved and pondering punishment, no doubt.” 

“Possibly,” Reid quipped. 

“Pam Larsson was right. He is possessive of you.”

“He can be.” 

“And you like it, or you wouldn’t put up with it.” 

“Admittedly.” 

“Does that spell love for you? Having some big brute dominate you all the time?” 

“When did this turn into a discussion about Agent Hotchner's personal qualities?” Reid asked, feeling his face warm up. Spaulding’s eyes wrinkled with amusement, but she didn’t dare look away from the window, not even for a second. 

“Merely wondering,” April said. 

“About what?” 

“Why an intelligent, level-headed, otherwise-rational person would put up with that kind of bullish behavior?” 

“I didn’t come here to discuss my private life with you, or my personal choices,” Reid said, not unkindly but firmly. Davies nodded. 

“But you want me to open up to you about issues and incidents which could not be more private and personal. Do you see what I mean? You’re asking me to let down my defenses, but you’re not willing to let down your own.” 

“I do not wish to take away the defensive barrier that you’ve constructed, because it’s your mind’s way of protecting you from unpleasant truths. But we need to find a way to work around this, for your sake as much as ours.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, Dr. Reid, your husband is a jackass.” 

“If it’s any consolation, Agent Davies, he’s none too fond of you either,” Reid tested a faint smile. 

“Agent Hotchner has threatened to prosecute me for obstruction, hasn’t he?” April asked. “Tonight is your last chance to get me to cooperate.” 

Reid sighed heavily, gazing down at his hands in his lap. “Yes,” the doctor whispered.

“He could do it too, couldn’t he? He could make those charges stick.” 

“He could.” 

“He’s willing to put me in prison if I don’t hand Ed over. My word of honor and sense of decency mean nothing to him. All that matters to Hotchner is solving this case and bringing down the ‘bad guy’.”

“He wants to prevent Ed from hurting any more people,” Reid defended. 

“Of course he does. But it’s about his ego too. Don’t lie to yourself, Dr. Reid. If push comes to shove, Hotchner will walk all over your feelings too to solve this case. He won’t hesitate for a second. Your husband is a bully.” 

“Do you feel better now that you’ve gotten that off your chest?”

“No. I actually feel worse. I’m worried you’re interpreting my protectiveness as jealousy.” 

“Perhaps a smidgen,” Reid said, fingers pinched together, eyes twinkling. 

“That’s why I haven’t said anything before.” 

“Understandable.” Reid’s voice sounded brittle, and his eyes were sharp as steel, but he fought down his anger, knowing that Davies was only striking back because she felt she had been attacked. She didn’t like being asked to go back over these terrible events, and she was angry at Reid for pushing her so hard. 

“I'm damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I should have kept my mouth shut. I don’t want you to hate me for telling you the truth. I’m concerned about you, as your friend.” 

“Your concern is duly noted. Can we get back to the matter at hand? Solving these two murders, and by doing so, helping Ed Trovinger. I’d like to suggest an alternate approach. You don’t want to put yourself back in the crime scene, and I can’t say as I blame you. So we’ll put some distance between you and the basement. Do you have paper and a pen? Graph paper would be most helpful, the larger the better.” 

“Graph paper? I might have some with my crafting supplies,” April said, getting up from the divan and heading down the hallway. She entered a back room and closed the door behind. Mr. Davies took the opportunity to return to the living room area. He sat down, not on the divan, but in the chair to the right of it. 

“Dr. Reid, I’m sorry she said that.” 

“Don’t be. She needed to say what as on her mind. I can respect that.” 

“I don’t know what April has told you about herself, but I hope you won’t be angry with her that she hasn’t been able to give you more help finding this Trovinger man.” 

“I am not angry with your daughter, sir. I am, however, concerned that if she is not more forth-coming with details, she might be charged with conspiracy after the fact, and obstruction of justice. If you could help me understand why she can’t talk about this, it would be most helpful.” 

“I won’t discuss her personal issues without her permission.” 

“As well you shouldn’t. But you should know that I’ve done my research. I have read every report in the Trovinger file, including the report about what happened or didn’t happen to Agent Davies when she was a student at SUNY.” 

“You’ve seen the police report?” 

“I have. I believe that incident with Todd Bennett is the crux of her issues. Being locked in Trovinger’s basement made her turmoil resurface. Not only is she fighting rediscovered memories of the earlier incident, she might even be confusing memories from both incidents.” 

“What do you know?” Mr. Davies worried. 

“Agent Davies was held against her will for three days by her boyfriend Todd. After she was released, she refused to press charges. She transferred from SUNY to American University. After taking one semester off, she remained in Virginia and went ahead with her plans to join the FBI Academy.” 

“That’s a very clinical overview,” Mr. Davies agreed reluctantly. 

“What I assumed from the sheer lack of actual details in the police report is that she was sexually assaulted, and that she blamed herself for what happened. She didn’t press charges either because of lack of evidence, or lack of willingness to go to trail and be forced to relive the experience in front of witnesses.”

“April didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize being accepted in the FBI Academy. She didn’t want a trial. The Academy gave her something positive to focus on after what had happened at SUNY. She’s never dealt emotionally with what Todd Bennett did to her, and being abducted by Trovinger only made matters worse,” Mr. Davies said. 

“I do understand.” 

Mr. Davies shook his head no. “Frankly, young man, you mean well, but you actually haven’t any idea what April went through. It’s different for a woman. Much different. It’s not that she didn’t want to see Todd again. She didn’t want Todd to see her,” Mr. Davies whispered. 

Reid watched Mr. Davies carefully for a long pause. He was clearly reading more from what Mr. Davies wasn’t saying than from the few words he had said.

“Understood,” Reid whispered. 

The door down the hallway popped open. Mr. Davies returned to the kitchen, fussing with the chicken soup on the stove. Agent Davies was carrying a plastic bin, which she set down on the floor and sorted through with rapid, anxious hands. 

“I hope the paper isn’t in one of the boxes I left at home,” April fretted, setting small snatches of fabric and threads and hoops aside. “I don’t do this as much as I used to. Hard to see without good lighting, and the stitches take a steady hand. It’s relaxing though, once you get into it. Here. I knew there must be some somewhere,” she sighed, pulling a pad of graph paper out of the bottom of the bin, along with several booklets of craft projects. She gave Reid the pad of paper. “Will this do?” she worried.

“It’s perfect,” Reid insisted, digging in his satchel for a pencil. 

“I’m sorry for what I said before.” 

“Don’t be.”

“I’ll just put all this away,” Agent Davies stammered, stuffing things back into the bin and hurrying away once more. Reid watched her leave the room, her face filled with dread. Was she concerned what her father might have said in her absence? Mr. Davies gave his daughter a reassuring smile. She returned much more quickly this time, and gave her father another questioning look. In the meantime, Reid had sketched out a rough floor plan on the paper. He handed his rough draft to April. 

“This is what I can recall from the scene this morning, and from some of the photographs in the files. It’s a rough estimate of the dimensions, approximate locations of the remains. As I said before, Lisa’s remains were under the stairs leading down into the basement, and Patricia’s remains were concealed beneath the cement floor, here,” Reid explained, shooting for a no-nonsense, non-emotional approach. 

“Ed would have been a baby when his mother disappeared.”

“1973.” 

“How old was Lisa?” 

“Lisa would have been seven when her mother vanished,” Reid relayed the details. “She was sixteen when she herself disappeared in 1982.” 

“If Patricia’s remains were under the cement floor, that means at some point the downstairs had not been finished in. Ed’s father would have had to have completed the work himself after Patricia’s death,” Davies commented. “Wouldn’t that have attracted attention from the neighbors even if her disappearance hadn’t?” 

“He was a contractor. Home improvements did not raise any reaction from the neighbors. Shag carpet,” Reid said.

“What?” 

“The explosion did a great deal of damage. There were remnants of shag carpet everywhere at the scene of the explosion. But you would have seen the carpet whole while you were in the basement. Ugly, shag carpet.”

“Is it possible to collect and examine the pieces?” 

“It might be,” Reid nodded. 

"Would there still be DNA on the carpet pieces?" 

“Most certainly. What struck me as interesting about the explosion is that the upstairs seemed to have been pushed out on all sides to expose the basement beneath. Ed learned how to handle explosives in the military. He became the go-to guy in his unit for constructing and defusing bombs. One of the things he learned was how to collapse structures in the proper manner to keep debris confined to a specific area. It’s the same way structural engineers will collapse a high-rise building in the middle of an urban environment without harming the adjacent businesses and residences.” 

“Why is that odd the house exploded outward? Is that abnormal?” 

“He must have planned the explosion to the tiniest detail. He was taking off the top of the house so you could get to the basement,” Mr. Davies commented. 

“Yes! My thoughts exactly!” Reid exclaimed, flashing his attention towards April’s father and back again. “Trovinger is a demolitions expert."

"He's very comfortable with explosives," April confirmed. 

"He knew how to carefully choreograph where the debris would land," Reid agreed. 

“Which rooms suffered the most structural damage?” Mr. Davies asked. 

“The bedrooms were utterly destroyed.”

“He destroyed his father’s room?” April asked. 

“Completely,” Reid nodded. 

“I’m not a profiler, but I’d say that sounds like he was mad at his father,” Mr. Davies interjected. 

“He was furious at him, powerless and terrified at the same time. The guilt about what happened to his sister has eaten at Ed for years and years,” April commented. 

“That’s no excuse for doing the things he’s done,” Mr. Davies replied. 

“No, it’s not an excuse, but with all that Ed was carrying around inside, I’m not surprised that he eventually snapped,” April defended. 

“What was the straw that broke the camel’s back?” Mr. Davies asked Reid. 

“I’d say it revolves around his service during the war. His military record mentions an incident in Najaf where a member of his unit was killed by a secondary explosive device. His commanding officer had said that Trovinger was giving aid to wounded civilians when the second device was detonated. It could be that the trauma of the incident, seeing people in pain and being unable to render assistance.”

“Was he rendering aid to children?” April asked. 

“I do not know,” Reid admitted. 

“He’s got a soft spot for kids,” she shrugged. 

"Because his own childhood was miserable," Mr. Davies remarked. 

“Perhaps the incident in Najaf sparked the buried memories about hearing his sister cry for help, and the powerlessness of being unable to help her. Trovinger tried to commit suicide after that incident. It clearly had a profound effect on him," Reid observed. 

“Like throwing gasoline on a burning fire,” April whispered. 

“You told Dr. Lind and SSA Schultz that you thought Ed might have seen his father attack his sister Lisa,” Reid reminded her. Agent Davies stared at the basement floor plan, and put a hand on the page, tracing the lines with her fingertips. “Why did you say that? Did he tell you what he saw?” Reid wondered. 

“Ed spoke of Lisa in fragments, sometimes in current tense, sometimes in past tense. He spoke of her as if she was there but not there. Like she was in the house, but she wasn’t. There were marks on the carpet. Blood stains, I thought. You said the photographs showed stains?”

“I thought they looked like stains, yes,” Reid nodded. 

“When were the pictures taken?” April wondered. 

“The FBI did a sweep of Trovinger’s house in late November, early December. The pictures were taken then. They’ve kept the house under surveillance in case he returned, but clearly they’ve grown lax in that task, or he would never have been able to slip in unnoticed and place those explosives to destroy the residence.” 

“Clearly,” April agreed. 

“Tell me about the stains when you saw them,” Reid requested. 

“Like marks in the snow, a body on the floor, marks around that shape, and other marks, hesitation points, like when you stop and turn and move forward again,” April relayed. 

“Go on,” Reid beckoned. 

“Coming down from the steps into the basement, you could see the divan and the chair. A smashed TV set. A dusty bird cage. When the light came up during the day, you could see stains on the carpet and on the furniture.” 

April followed with her finger on the page as she spoke, her voice drifting away distantly. 

“Stains?” Reid said, giving her the pencil. 

“The carpet was a mess,” she murmured, drawing a small box, a smaller box, and a jagged splotch of carbon before them. 

Reid’s brow furrowed as April wrinkled up her face, turning the basement floor plan grid page around to face herself. She was imagining walking down the steps, Reid understood, or perhaps sitting on the steps? April continued to trace forms on the page. A circle for the bird cage. Another box for the TV. 

“The stain in the middle on the floor looked like a body to me, and there were boot prints around the body. A man’s feet. Too big to be a woman, unless she was a six foot Amazon. There were hand prints, finger marks in blood, on the sofa and the chair. Matted hair on the chair cushion,” April breathed as if in a daze, unable to take her eyes off the page. “But there was also this one print that looked like….. I can’t explain it…. Like you had put down the end of a baseball bat on the carpet.”

“A circular print?” Reid questioned. ‘Louisville slugger,’ the coroner had suggested. 

April stood up and moved to the middle of her own floor. She faced Reid, and raised her arm. 

“The ceiling,” she said as she looked up. 

“What about the ceiling?” Reid pressed. His mind raced through the file photos – had there been any pictures of the ceiling?

“Cast-off blood evidence. I’m sure of it,” she said as she pointed up and imagined the spectacle on her own ceiling. “Your mind goes back to what you studied at the Academy. High velocity marks mean a gunshot – small streaks, tiny elliptical droplets. Medium velocity means a blunt object swung with lethal force. Low velocity would indicate blood dripping from a wound or from an object, hitting the floor, making large circles. The first strike draws blood, and the subsequent blows scatter the blood in a pattern around the victim if they are lying on the floor. Marks will glance off walls or nearby objects. But also, as the weapon gathers blood and tissue, cast-off evidence is scattered in relation to the direction and movement of the blows. If I’m left-handed, the cast-off droplets will be backwards left, forwards right. If I’m right-handed, the marks will be backwards right, forwards left.”

“Quite correct,” Reid praised. “You can determine the force of the blow by the shape of the blood drops. The smaller the drops, the faster the velocity at which they were moving.” 

“I believe Ed interrupted his father’s attack on Lisa. Ed fled the basement in fear for his life. Ed’s father had to decide what to do then, didn’t he?” April speculated. 

“Should he finish off Lisa or follow Ed?” Reid asked. 

“There were hand prints, small hands, clawing, grasping, and struggling. Lisa was fighting for her life, meaning she was not yet dead at that point."

“Maybe Ed ran back upstairs and hid, perhaps in his bedroom. Because Lisa was struggling, the father continued his attack on Lisa until he was sure she was dead,” Reid put in. 

“No,” April shook her head. “I think Lisa was locked in the basement alive. Ed could hear her. She was begging him for help. She must have survived the initial attack, but her father locked her in the basement so she couldn’t escape. Ed was too small to reach the lock, and he didn’t have the key. He couldn’t help Lisa. He was too afraid of his father to tell anyone else what had happened. He pretended it hadn’t happened. That was his mind’s way of defending him against what he had seen, what he was hearing. Ed’s father left Lisa locked in the basement until he was sure she was dead, and then he went down there and buried her under the stairs. He warned Ed, he threatened Ed, don’t you ever ever ever go into that basement. Ed warned me too – not angrily. Fearfully. He warned me not to go in the basement.”

“Had Ed gone down into the basement? Had his father punished him for it?” Reid wondered. “The guilt ate at him, like you said. Lisa haunted Ed, either literally or figuratively,” Reid agreed.

“Yes,” April replied, shaking herself awake again. “Why didn’t Ed’s father kill him too?” 

“Michael Trovinger couldn’t possibly have explained both of his children disappearing at the same time, not on top of his wife vanishing years before. Once is a tragedy. Twice looks suspicious. Three times is a pattern,” Reid answered. “Being the only family member left would have made him the prime suspect.” 

“He couldn’t take the chance,” April decided. 

“But the damage was done, wasn’t it?” Reid murmured as April paced back and forth. “When Ed witnessed his father attacking Lisa, he must have realized that that was what had happened to his mother as well. Maybe. Maybe not. He might have needed more concrete proof than that. But he would have suspected that his father had lied to him for all those years, and it must have made him so angry!”

“Yes! Exactly! The father probably told Ed that his mother had walked away. When Ed figured out the truth, he was angry, and scared, and horrified, and all those things at once,” April nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. “Dr. Reid, is there any chance that evidence from the basement could have survived the explosion?” 

“It is unlikely but it is possible,” Reid nodded. “It’s going to take time to reconstruct the scene from whatever fragments remain.” 

“Why did he do it?” April wondered. “Why did Ed’s father kill Patricia? Why did he kill Lisa?” 

“We won’t know that until we delve more deeply into their lives. I will need to pull information from primary sources, newspaper articles, interviews, eye-witness testimony. Considering how long ago these crimes occurred, it may be a very difficult search.” 

“Why can’t you talk to the people who knew them before?” 

“If possible, I will. Co-workers. Classmates.”

“If you could talk to Ed….” April suggested, leaving the statement open. Reid conjured a thin smile. 

“He would be my primary choice of witnesses to interview,” Reid acknowledged. “While it is true that he would know little or nothing about his mother’s murder, he could be instrumental in solving his sister’s murder, particularly if he witnessed the crime itself. If he is willing to discuss the topic with me, which could be why he struck up a friendship with Dr. Ramirez in the first place....." 

“If not for the whole ‘fugitive from justice’ thing….”

“Yes,” Reid smiled pertly. 

“If I could convince him you want to help him, he might listen to me.” 

“Ed is not stupid, Agent Davies. He knows we want to arrest him. He’s not coming anywhere near you again. Not if he’s got an ounce of sense.” 

“You’re going to need help doing all this research on his mother and sister,” she said matter-of-factly. 

“Yes.”

“Archival research? That’s my cup of tea. I could be very useful.” 

“You could,” Reid nodded. 

Davies all but sprinted for the closet by the door, rifling through for a coat. Reid stood and followed her, accepting his own jacket which she tossed over one shoulder to him. 

“We know Ed’s family is from Fairfax, so we should be able to do research through old newspapers from around the times of each of the two disappearances. Talk to the police department, the primary investigators on the cases, if there were cases. Would Edward’s father have filed police reports? I think not, you know? That would only draw attention to their absence, something he wouldn't want. He would have put out the rumors to neighbors and friends that they had disappeared, first Patricia, and then Lisa. He would have to had….what?” April stopped herself midsentence as she was pulling on her jacket and turning around. 

“Agent Davies, we cannot proceed tonight. I must first discuss the situation with my SSA,” Reid protested. 

“But I want to help Ed,” April said in a defeated tone. “I want to help you.” 

“Tomorrow,” Reid promised. 

“Agent Hotchner isn’t going to let us work together on this. He doesn’t like me.” 

“That is not for Agent Hotchner to decide. This case belongs to SSA Schultz,” Reid reminded April. She was slowly taking off her coat again. 

“What am I supposed to do until tomorrow morning?” she sighed. 

“If you recall any other details, write them down. Don’t lose the grid pages. We will need them. Eat dinner. Relax. Don’t obsess.”

“You can’t build this case on what I’ve said. You’ll need tangible evidence, cold hard facts.” 

“We will need hard evidence to back up our speculations. It is likely that Schultz will want his own team to conduct the search of the basement. You may not be working with me. You may wind up doing this research with other agents besides myself. But your willingness to do so will go a long way in staving off Agent Hotchner’s displeasure with you.”

“He won’t press obstruction charges if I make at least a modicum of effort in cooperation.”

“Exactly that. Agent Fletcher was most helpful with the initial evidence reports in November. SSA Schultz does not have a full compliment of agents at the moment. He lost Dr. Lind and Agent Henderson both to upper management. We’ll sort this out in the morning. In the meantime, your chicken soup waits,” Reid smiled as he continued pulling on his own jacket. Spaulding was quietly by his side, keys in her hand. 

“Agent Hotchner must be worried about you. It’s almost nine,” April observed. Her father was poking around the pot on the stove again. He came to the door and shook Reid’s hand, giving him a grateful smile. 

“Hotch is at parent/teacher conferences. I’m sure he’s got his hands full for the moment,” Reid answered. 

“Good night then,” Agent Davies said as she opened the door and escorted Reid and Spaulding out. 

“Thank you for your help. You’ve been most invaluable,” Reid complimented Davies as they left.


	9. Entre Nous

9 - Entre Nous

 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Spaulding observed in the darkness in the car. Reid shook himself out of his thoughts. 

“Am I?” he squeaked. “Tired, I suppose.” 

“I saw what you did there.” 

“What’s that?” Spencer asked innocently as he stretched his arms straight out in front of him, almost touching the windshield. 

“You know what I’m talking about. You got Davies involved by making this about helping Ed, not about arresting him. Did you notice she never calls him ‘Trovinger’? That’s too impersonal. She really cares about him.”

“She wants to help him, and I want to help her,” Reid agreed, settling back in his seat and rotating his left shoulder. 

“She’s going to be angry at you if you are the one who arrests him, you do know that?”

“I know.” 

“I have to say, I side with Agent Hotchner. You need to put more distance between yourself and Agent Davies. Make the limits of your working relationship very clear to her.” 

“Do you think she’s in love with me too?” 

“Doc, I bet she spends hours writing your names together to see how they look.”

“She does not,” Reid pouted. Amy chuckled. 

“Okay. That may be a small exaggeration. But if you’d like a woman’s point of view?”

“I would welcome your opinion. I’m surprised, that’s all. I expected you to champion Agent Davies if no one else would.” 

“I like April Davies as a person, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see her faults. You are too close to the issue to see things clearly.” 

“What is the view from your oh-so-neutral position?” 

“You and she are like me and Brett.” 

“In what way?” 

“Everyone else thinks you’re made for each other, and they’re very anxious to tell you so. You know, they could be right. It could be beautiful. But it could also be Hell on Earth.”

“I don’t see the parallels. You and the Master Sergeant have a history together. You have dated. He asked you to marry him.” 

“Yes.” 

“I have a working relationship with Davies. We’ve never had anything else. She was dating someone else when we worked together. As was I. I have never once intimated that we could be romantically involved. We do work well together. We have like minds. But that doesn’t mean we would automatically make compatible life mates.”

“If you two had children, your progeny would rule the world,” Spaulding laughed. 

“Quite possibly, yes. But she’s not in love with me, and I’m not in love with her.” 

“I suspect she sees your connection quite differently.”

“Oh, do you?” 

“She would never admit it to you if she can’t even admit it to herself. Being in love with you makes her feel guilty. Concealing those romantic feelings within a platonic friendship makes her feel less guilty about coveting another man’s wife. Husband. Spouse. If she spells her feelings out to you, she knows you’ll rebuff her, and she’ll never see you again. She’s not going to tell you she’s in love with you. She’d never risk it.” 

“It goes without saying that I disagree quite emphatically with your assessment of the situation. Do you want to know what I find interesting? Everyone keeps telling me Agent Davies is attracted to me, but no one is asking me how I feel about her. Doesn’t that matter?” 

“How do you feel about her?” 

“I’m not attracted to April. While I do think she’s a lovely person, brilliant and intelligent, and kind to a fault, I don’t look at Agent Davies and get butterflies.” 

“Do you get butterflies when you look at Hotchner?” 

“Fire-breathing butterflies,” Reid sighed happily, unconsciously rubbing his heart. 

Spaulding would never have admitted how adorable she found that unconscious gesture. “He makes you all giddy inside?” she teased. 

“Yes, yes, he does.” 

“Has he always?” 

“Yes.” 

“You don’t need to be defensive.” 

“Well, apparently I do.”

“I can tell you why you’re not attracted to April.” 

“Can you?” 

“Of course I can. In every relationship, there is a dominant person and a submissive person. You’re submissive. Look at you blush. I’m not talking about in bed.”

“Aren’t you?” 

“Speaking purely from an emotional stand-point, you would not find a relationship with Davies to be satisfying because you’re both submissive.”

“Thank you, Dr. Freud,” Reid quipped. 

“You want and need to be dominated. You need your hairy beast because he makes you feel giddy. He scares you, and you like it. Will he bite your hand, or lay his head in your lap? That’s what you need. The thrill of not knowing what he’ll do. You like danger. It turns you on. Danger is your drug of choice. I don’t have to be Freud to see that Davies isn’t dangerous, and she isn’t exciting, and she doesn’t make you giddy.” 

“You don’t think my lack of attraction might be as simple as her lack of a penis?” Reid joked. 

“That might play into the equation, in some small way,” Amy laughed.

“Sorry to be so crass,” Reid apologized. 

“No, not at all. The physical form plays a role in attraction. That’s human nature at its most basic. Hotch is more than a penis to you though. He’s your beast. He’s your knight. He’s your companion. He’s your friend.”

“Yes.” 

“I don’t see Davies ever filling those roles for you. It’s very clear you’re not attracted to her and why. For your own sake, you might want to make sure Davies gets the message that you’re not going to be more than friends. Don’t break her heart, but don’t give her hope either.”

“I’m not giving her hope. Am I?”

“You sat next to her on the divan.” 

“Where else did you want me to sit?” Reid’s voice rose with exasperation as his hands fluttered about. “Does it seem to you that there are a lot of twigs along the road?” he observed a second later. Spaulding’s sharp eyes went left and right, and she nodded. 

“Something big must have driven through here. Took a wrong turn off from the main highway. Doc, a girl could read all manner of things into that one simple gesture of sitting next to her instead of in the chair, or remaining standing. You’re sticking your neck out for Davies. You’re going above and beyond the call of duty to defend her. She sees you as her champion. You know, as weird as it sounds, she sees Ed that way too.” 

“Davies is a friend. I don’t want her to get into trouble over this. I would defend her no matter what.” 

“Doc, I’m talking, but you’re not listening. You are being much more than a friend to her.”

“Why are you being so adamant about this?” Reid wondered. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling, that’s why.”

“Bad feeling about what?” 

“Davies adores you and would do anything to help you, but she won’t let you see that letter from Ed Trovinger. Haven’t you asked yourself why?”

“Ed must have said something personal to her.” 

“Haven’t you thought it through? What does Ed do for fun?” 

“He blows people up.” 

“Exactly. Ed feels bad for scaring April, and he wants to fix this for her. What do you think Ed thinks will make April most happy?” 

“Me.”

“Who is the only person standing between you and April, and her eternal happiness?” 

“Hotch,” Reid shivered. 

“April won’t give you that letter, because Ed must have offered to kill Hotch.”

“That thought had indeed occurred to me."

"Why doesn't April want you to have proof of what Ed has in mind for Hotch?"

"You can't possibly be suggesting that April actually wants Trovinger to kill Hotch for her?” Reid squeaked. 

“Well, maybe deep down inside, somewhere dark and spooky, Davies might want that. Isn’t that a fantasy girls sometimes entertain when the man they love is already spoken for? Maybe she closes her eyes at night, and she lets herself imagine all the details of how that would play out. How she could comfort your pain over losing Hotch, and win your heart with all her kindness, and then you two would get married, and you would have babies together, and you would live happily ever after.” 

“Are you speaking from experience?” Reid wanted to know, brows coming together over the bridge of his nose. 

“Funny you should ask. This situation does remind me of a crush I had on one of my commanding officers. The fact that he was unattainable made him that much more desirable,” Amy admitted. 

“You wished his wife dead?” 

“I wished her dead in all manner of ways,” Spaulding confided. “But never by the light of day. Society tell women we have to be good girls all the time. Good girls don’t wish people dead. Good girls don’t lust. Good girls don’t covet.” 

“Davies is a good girl.”

“Yes, she is. She’s a very good person. I mean that, sincerely. She doesn’t want Hotch to come to harm for her sake. Mind you, she could reconsider that position if he keeps being a jerk to her. But Davies has figured out that the best way she can keep her promise, the best way to protect you from Ed and to protect Ed from you, is to make sure you never see that letter. It doesn’t hurt that not cooperating with the investigation pisses Hotchner off as well. Their mutual enmity does factor into the equation. She is willing to cooperate to a small degree for your sake, but that’s it.” 

“I get your point. Do you think Hotch has figured out what Ed might have suggested to April?” 

“Subliminally, I’m sure Agent Hotchner knows. He’s not stupid. Why do you think he’s so mad at Agent Davies, and wants to believe she and Ed are in cahoots?” 

“Cahoots,” Reid whispered. “There’s a word you don’t hear often enough.” 

“You don’t need the letter. You only need to know that Ed wants April to be happy, and he’s willing to kill to accomplish that. What else could you hope to learn from that letter?”

“By studying his handwriting sample, we can learn quite a bit about Ed.” 

“Like what? He’s a leftie, and he prefers ballpoints to gel pens? Take my advice, and cut your losses. Forget about the letter.”

“You might be right. I must confess, what concerns me more is what Davies said about final goodbyes. She was convinced Ed meant to commit suicide.” 

“Sounds like an equitable solution to me.” 

“Trovinger is not going to commit suicide. What he meant was that he was moving on from Davies to a new mission. He must have found a new messenger from God. Killers like this don’t stop until someone stops them. Yesterday, his mission was to revenge Dr. Ramirez. Today his mission is to make April happy. Who the hell knows what poor bastard he’s latched onto, and what his mission will be tomorrow?” 

“We’ll figure that out tomorrow. You don’t have to do it all in one day. There’s always Monday.”

“Remind me I have a physical therapy appointment Monday afternoon.” 

“How are you liking the new therapist?” Spaulding asked. 

“Oh. She’s very nice. Thanks for arranging that.” 

“You’re welcome. Kelly is much nicer than Mr. Football, isn’t she? I didn’t like him,” Amy confided.

“Neither did I,” Reid admitted back. “What’s more, he didn’t like me either.”

“When I would sit in the waiting room, I’d hear you screaming in the back. All his other patients would be squirming and wincing, or pacing around. One lady actually started crying and had to leave. I’m not kidding. He wasn’t a nice man.” 

“I do wonder whatever happened to him.” 

“Who cares? Sayonara. Good riddance. Kelly is nice. She’s got good hands. She’s very sweet.” 

“Yeah. She is,” Reid chuckled, leaning back and closing his eyes. “Have you seen her professionally before?” 

“A few years ago, I pulled a muscle in my left leg.”

“On a mission?” 

“No, I was hot-dogging on the slopes at Whitetail. Ran right over my then-boyfriend. He spent a month laid up in traction, so a pulled muscle wasn’t so bad in comparison.” 

Reid snickered softly at Spaulding's tale. 

“We broke up after that. I was very down in the dumps. Kelly was my physical therapist. Most of her clients are military. Her work with disabled veterans?" Spaulding continued, eyes misting up a bit. She cleared her throat. "Not only did Kelly get me back on my feet, but when we found out we lived in the same neighborhood, we buddied up for morning jogs for a couple years. It was great, until Kelly met Mr. Right at a convention in Atlantic City. She got pregnant, and got married, and moved to Bethesda.” 

“Is that a hint of longing I hear in your voice? Box truck.”

“I don’t want to live in Bethesda,” Spaulding joked. “What about box trucks?” she added as Reid noted there were more small twigs all over the road. 

“You do entertain girly fantasies after all. Do you go in for that sort of thing?” 

“What sort of thing?”

“The handsome prince on the white horse, the castle, the kiss of everlasting love. That sort of thing?” Reid asked. 

“I don’t know about a handsome prince on a white horse, but I could use a good kiss. Why do you chuckle?” 

“LaFlamme is gorgeous, intelligent, heroic, and funny, but he didn’t fill the bill. I’m wondering what a guy would have to do to impress you.” 

“Doc, if you like Brett so much, why don’t you marry him?” Spaulding frowned. 

“I don’t mean to offend. I’m merely speculating what you’re searching for in the perfect mate.” 

“You’d be surprised, I think.” 

“I promise to be utterly amazed someday,” Reid grinned. “We’re following a box truck.” 

“Who would be driving a box truck back here? You have to know this road is here to even find it. Call Hotch. Maybe he knows. Think he’s back yet?” 

“His appointment was for 8:30. He may not be home if the conference with Jack’s teacher ran long.” 

“Will Jack be with him?” 

“No. Jack is with Aunt Jessica tonight. He’s got weekend plans with his grandparents.” 

“Hello U-Haul!” Spaulding observed as they came around a turn and up over a small hill. A medium-sized, orange and white and green box truck was trundling along ahead of them on the country road, thwacking small twigs off the overhanging branches as it went. 

“He is exceeding the speed limit by at least twenty miles an hour. There is a house for sale on the property on the other side of the Friars. I suppose someone must have purchased it,” Reid murmured, watching the truck bouncing and rumbling. As their lights became visible in the truck’s rearview mirror, the truck picked up even more speed. 

“The problem with those trucks is that the jokers who rent them have never driven a vehicle that large before, and they have no idea how to handle them,” Spaulding muttered as she turned down the road which would eventually take them to Reid’s driveway. “Although, he’s doing pretty well. You can’t drive those like a Ferrari though. I saw someone flip one on I-95 one time. Right there in the middle of the Beltway, five thirty on the dot. I wasn’t the only person who drove by contemplating homicide. You wouldn’t have to bomb this city to create mass chaos. All you’d have to do is wreck a big box truck in a strategic traffic artery, and that would be all she wrote.” 

“I hear you,” Reid nodded, smiling slightly. 

“How much was the house going for?” Spaulding wondered. 

“Which house?” 

“The one for sale on the other side of the Friars. What’s the lot like?”

“The lot touches the back of the forest area beyond our barn, and part of the Friars’ back pasture,” Reid explained. “It was a huge horse farm at one time, but the former owners downsized twice in the last ten years. It’s down to a few acres of fields and pastures, a house, a barn, nice stables, the like.” 

“How much?” 

“I believe the asking price was $1.2 million.” 

“A little steep for me,” Spaulding winced. 

“A little steep for most of us,” Reid agreed. “Are you looking for a horse farm?” 

“Not a horse farm, per se. The vet told me apartment living is stressing Snippy out, that maybe I should consider finding a rural place, or at least a suburban one with a big yard.”

“Fifteen acres would be a very big yard.”

“He might actually get to run off some of his extra energy that way, instead of eating my sofa cushions,” Spaulding smiled. “The vet also suggested getting him a companion.”

“Really? That’s what you need. Two dogs eating your sofa cushions,” Reid mused. 

“Exactly what I thought,” Spaulding replied. “The lot is catty-cornered then?” she asked as they turned into the driveway and made the long trek up between the arching trees. Her headlights struck the garage door. The sensor lights struck back. The top of the hippie van could be seen through the high windows, like a big bald head wearing glasses. Green-gold eyes were illuminated briefly beside the garage. 

“Antigoglin,” Reid replied. 

“That way?” Spaulding pointed as she pulled around the garage and parked by the barn.

“Mm hmm,” Reid nodded. 

“I’m sure that General Scott will want to check out whoever bought it,” Spaulding said grimly. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Reid yawned. He opened his car door and slowly pulled himself out. He stood and stretched, rotating back and forth at the waist. Spaulding came around the front of the vehicle and bent down to a shape near her feet. 

“Hey, Fuzzy Butt. What are you doing outside?” she cooed. Goody jumped up into Spaulding’s arms, meowing loudly. 

“I thought I told you to stay in the house,” Reid scolded softly as he stroked Goody’s fur. 

“Naughty boy,” Spaulding mused. 

“How did he get out?” Reid wondered sleepily. Goody jumped out of Spaulding’s arms, rotated around Reid’s ankles, and then darted towards the barn. “I’m gonna…..” Spencer mumbled, digging for his keys and pointing towards the house. 

“Yup,” Spaulding replied, pulling out her own keys and heading for the barn. She let Goody in as she opened the door to the concealed workspace where the surveillance team had their office. Goody vanished into the large interior of the big structure. 

Reid ambled towards the back stoop of the house, bathed in the rays from the sensor lights. He walked stiffly, hugging his satchel and navigating carefully on the dew-dampened grass. There might be rain in the air, he thought as he climbed the steps. Maybe snow if the temperatures dipped down far enough. The daffodils by the door were beginning to green up. Another couple weeks of sunshine, and the blossoms would be open. It never failed to snow at least once while the daffodils were in bloom. Reid observed an envelope tucked in between the door and the portal itself. He unlocked the door, pulled out the note, and retrieved his keys from the lock. 

The house was dark and still. Reid reached for a light switch in the kitchen while facing the front of the house. What had Hotch left in the middle of the dining room floor? There was an unfamiliar, huge lump in the darkness. There was a smell in the air that Reid knew very well though. It was the musty odor of old, damp, paperback books. That familiar prickle of mildew and dust, like from an old library, or the stacks at a university. Yellowed, weathered pages. Reid was accustomed to that smell upstairs in the study, or in the master bedroom where all the books resided. It wasn’t usually so strong downstairs here in the dining room. 

Reid flicked on the light. His eyes went wide. His keys crashed down to the kitchen floor. His satchel slid down his shoulder and thumped at his feet.


	10. Short Fuse

10 - Short Fuse

 

A man in in bomb squad gear exited the back door and lifted his helmet, pushing back his thick black hair like a bad actor on B-movie set. It was like he had calculated the angle of the light from the garage, and knew exactly where to walk out, and lift his helmet, and catch the light, and look as heroic as possible in his gear. 

“The house is clear,” he announced loudly. Most people looked relieved. Some did not. Reid stood up from where he had been leaning against the side of Jack’s pirate ship playset. 

“Of course it’s clear!” Reid snapped moodily.

As the temperatures had dropped, last night’s drizzling rain had become a light spring snow. Everyone was huddled around outside the residence while these jokers had taken their time going room to room, inspecting every nook and cranny for explosive devices. Spencer had told them from the start that they were wasting their time, but oh no, nobody was going to listen to him, were they? It was somewhere between two and three in the morning, and a light snow continued to fall. By this time, Reid was long out of patience and even common courtesy. He was cold, tired, and extremely testy.

Hotch and Morgan exchanged a smile as the bomb squad agent ignored Reid’s sass, and came over to talk to them instead. He was carrying his portable scanner like some big ass gun prop. Maybe inside the agent’s mind, that was exactly how he was playing this whole scenario. It was clear he was a little too excited to bring out his team and play with his cool toys. 

“Thank you, Agent Franzetti,” Hotch murmured graciously. 

“What about the garage? The barn?” Franzetti pressed. 

“Mother of God,” Reid growled. “Is that really necessary?” 

“Reid, get a grip,” Hotch told him. “It won’t hurt to do a sweep.” 

“I’ll take my guys over there. By the way, the laundry is done. The dryer kept buzzing every ten minutes. Like to make me shit my pants the first time it went off.”

The ATF agent cocked a jovial grin, then motioned to the other similar-clad agents that were spilling out of the house by ones and twos. He coordinated his agents, lowered his mask again, and sauntered off towards the barn, streaming commands as he went along. Dr. Lind exited the kitchen, followed by SSA Schultz and Agent Thomas.

“What time did you leave this evening?” Dr. Lind asked Hotch. 

“7:30. I dropped Jack at Jess’s for the weekend, and I was at the school by 8 p.m.,” Hotch answered. “Parent/teacher conference.” 

“7:30? You’re sure about the time?”

“Yes,” Hotch nodded. 

“What about you?” Dr. Lind asked Reid. 

“I left the house around 6 p.m. I arrived at Agent Davies’ apartment at 6:30 p.m.,” Reid answered. 

“What time did you get home?” 

“9:30 p.m.”

“That gave Ed Trovinger two hours to pull a truck into your driveway, pick your door lock, and leave those books your dining room,” Dr. Lind observed. “Could it be done?” 

“Clearly it could,” Reid whispered dryly. Dr. Lind was tempted to smile. She really was. But she didn’t want to encourage Reid’s sour mood or his biting sarcasm. 

"What happened to the neighbor with the binoculars?" Morgan asked. 

"She's visiting her sister in Mobile," Hotch replied. 

“Any idea why Trovinger would do this?” Agent Thomas asked gruffly. 

“Did you tell them about the car in the parking lot?” Spaulding asked Reid as she approached the group. As casually as possible, she whipped a muffler out of her pocket, unfurled it with a snap, and wrapped its knitted length around Reid’s neck and shoulders. He whispered his thanks to her. 

“Tell me about the car,” Hotch added as Reid adjusted the scarf. Spaulding hung around the agents with her hands in her pockets and her eyes darting around the perimeter of the area. 

“There was a suspicious car in the parking lot at Davies’ apartment complex,” Reid explained. 

“What was suspicious about the car?” Frank Schultz asked. 

“There was a red, four-door Honda Accord, idling near where I parked,” Spaulding replied. 

“Doesn’t our fugitive wacko drive a red Honda Accord?” Thomas asked. 

“Yes,” Reid growled. 

“Did you get a plate number, Dr. Genius?” Thomas barked back. 

“It was at a distance from Davies’ windows, but I could tell the car had Virginia plates. AJG-1459. Or, AIG-1469,” Reid answered, nodding to Spaulding to let her know he had remembered she had read the plate differently than he had read it. 

“Why didn’t you call this in then?” Schultz frowned. 

“I didn’t want to scare Agent Davies. I didn’t want her to panic over nothing. It might not have been Trovinger.” 

“Did you make any progress with Agent Davies?” Hotch asked. 

“She was able to recall vital details about the condition of the basement, evidence that we might be able to locate depending on how much damage was done to the contents.”

“Mazel tov,” Schultz smiled. “Fletcher is already working with the ATF to piece the basement back together. Anything else?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Did she have anything helpful to say about finding Ed Trovinger?” Thomas pressed. 

“I doubt she knew what he was up to this evening, if that’s what you’re asking,” Reid replied. 

“You saw him in the parking lot at her apartment. I don’t think it takes a leap of faith to imagine they might have planned this together,” Thomas offered to Schultz. “Think about it. She distracts Reid while Trovinger plants the books.” 

“To what end?” Reid demanded. 

“How would I know?” Thomas muttered. “Maybe to freak you out? Maybe to throw us off?”

“Let’s put a tail on Davies until we know for sure what she’s up to,” Dr. Lind agreed. 

“No. Listen. She didn’t plan this with Trovinger. She had no idea either,” Reid protested. “You aren’t being logical. We know for a fact that they’re moving in different circles. We can verify that April has been at work all day, and at home most of the evening. Trovinger did this on his own. Whatever Trovinger is up to, Davies is not in on it.” 

“Did you know he was going to bring his books to your house?” Thomas asked. 

“No!” Reid shouted defensively. 

“Dr. Reid, we’re on the same side here,” Schultz reminded him. 

“Are you sure about that? Because I’m not,” Spencer snarled. 

“I like you better in a coma,” Thomas grinned. Hotch bristled like an angry porcupine and doubled up both fists as he advanced on Thomas. 

“That’s enough, gentlemen,” Dr. Lind interceded. “Dr. Reid, for Agent Davies’ sake, we should put a tail on her, if only to keep her safe from Ed Trovinger. If you didn’t already have a tail, I’d assign one to you as well.” 

“Trovinger is not going to hurt her, and he’s not going to hurt me,” Reid insisted strongly. 

“How do you know that?” Thomas laughed. “Did you know he was planning to bring his books here?” 

“No,” Reid replied. His eyes darted to Hotch, and back to Thomas. 

“Then you don’t know he’s not going to hurt you,” Thomas barked. 

“We’re more than well aware what he’s capable of doing,” Lind interjected.

“There’s no forced entry. How did he get in your house?” Thomas pressed Reid. 

“He picked the lock, the same way he got into Agent Davies’ previous apartment to kidnap her,” Morgan interjected. “Why are you being so adversarial? It’s not like Reid asked the man to do what he’s doing.” 

“Don’t make me the heavy. I’m asking the tough questions because someone needs to ask them,” Thomas retorted abrasively.

“Instead of badgering Reid, why don’t you concentrate on Trovinger?” Hotch barked. 

“Do we have a theory? Trovinger blows up his own house, picks your lock, and leaves fifteen hundred books in your dining room for no particular reason? Then he tiptoes off into the sunset, and we never hear from him again? Is that really how you see this? Because that’s fucking delusional,” Thomas smirked at Reid. 

“Agent, back off,” Hotch warned Thomas. 

“Gentlemen!” Dr. Lind shouted. “You stow this macho shit right this second, or you’re off the case, and on suspension,” Dr. Lind warned. Thomas bowed his head in apology to Simone, and Hotch nodded to her, backing down. 

“If Trovinger was driving the box truck that Dr. Reid and I saw leaving when we came down the outer road, then he has not left the area. Considering the fact he’s got the FBI, the ATF, Homeland Security, and the state and local police all looking for him, he wouldn’t have stayed in DC without a very good reason,” Spaulding said.

“What box truck are you talking about?” Hotch asked. 

“We saw one on the back road as we were coming home. We thought someone might have bought the house for sale beyond the Friars’ place,” Reid replied. 

“Trovinger has to have a purpose for staying around,” Morgan agreed with Spaulding. 

“He may have found another mission to occupy himself,” Reid offered dimly. 

“We need to contact all the U-Haul locations between Dumfries and Fairfax,” Hotch insisted. “Trovinger has done this before. Parked one vehicle and walked back to another.” 

“If Trovinger sent Davies a letter, apologizing for what he did, and telling her goodbye, then why would he be following her now?” Morgan wanted to know. 

“Trovinger isn’t following Davies, is he?” Thomas remarked. “He’s following Reid. Maybe you’re his new mission, Doc. Doesn’t that make you uncomfortable?” 

“It makes me very uncomfortable,” Reid replied. “But if Trovinger is focused on me, at least he’s not planning to blow some other agent to Kingdom Come.” Reid’s concerned gaze was back on Hotch again. 

“The question is why Trovinger has shifted focus,” Morgan muttered. Hotch and Reid were exchanging a private glance. 

“That is indeed the million dollar question,” Schultz agreed. 

“We need to take reasonable precautions,” Dr. Lind began. 

“Like remote-starting our vehicles?” Thomas remarked as he jotted down notes. 

“In all seriousness, not a bad idea. You might even consider taking the mass transit, if possible,” Dr. Lind commented. “Dr. Reid, for your own safety, you need to limit your movements.” 

“I can’t help but agree,” Spaulding chimed in. 

“By limiting your movements, you will be less of a target,” Simone added. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Reid nodded contritely. 

“We know your house is a safe location. If you stay in a safe location, then we can focus our efforts on finding Trovinger instead of keeping you from harm,” Dr. Lind replied. She paused, glanced Reid up and down, and looked confused. “Wait. Did you just agree with me?”

“Yes. I’ll stay here at the house,” Reid replied. 

“I know that this is the last thing you want to hear. I know you’re anxious to get back into the middle of the action. But until we have a tangible lead on this man, someone needs to know where you are at all times. If you need to leave the house in the course of the investigation, someone needs to be with you,” Lind insisted.

“I understand,” Reid said patiently. 

“Reid?” Lind murmured. 

“What? I said okay,” Spencer breathed. Dr. Lind’s hand shot out. She took Reid’s arm and pulled him aside, walking briskly to the driveway, his scarf fluttering along behind him. She dragged Reid out of earshot on the far side of the phalanx of black SUVs. Schultz watched them depart, and watched Hotch watch them depart. Spaulding lingered somewhere in the middle of the distance, stuffing her hands in her pockets and rocking back and forth on her feet. 

“The letter in the door jam?” Schultz asked Hotch. Aaron pulled his attention away from Lind and Reid’s animated, whispered discussion, and back towards Schultz. 

“What about it?” he asked. 

“What did the letter say?” Schultz almost smiled. 

“We didn’t open it,” Hotch explained. Thomas cracked up, shaking his head. 

“Because why on Earth would you open the letter the psychopath left at the scene?” 

“That’s enough,” Schultz mumbled tiredly. 

“We thought opening the letter in a controlled environment would be better, Agent Thomas, in order to conserve any trace evidence,” Hotch growled. 

“Can I have the letter?” Schultz pleaded. 

“Yes, you may,” Morgan replied, pulling a big plastic bag from his jacket. 

“At least we have our writing sample,” Schultz commented as he tipped sideways and lifted the bag by one corner. A white #10 envelope was tucked inside. “ ‘Dr. Spencer Reid’. Formal. Polite. Appropriate. Is this how it started with Dr. Ramirez? The personal correspondence?”

“Don’t worry. Reid is not going to fall down the same rabbit hole,” Morgan said. “We’re not going to let him.” 

“I want to take this back to Quantico,” Schultz told Hotch.

“Be my guest,” Hotch replied. 

Dr. Lind and Dr. Reid were returning to the other agents. Spaulding followed on their heels. Simone did not look happy. Her sour face indicated she had developed a very ferocious case of heartburn in the last five minutes. 

“Dr. Reid is going to sort through the books that Trovinger left behind. Agent Hotchner, you’re going to assist him,” the assistant director ordered. 

Hotch shot Reid a hairy eyeball, and Spencer bit his bottom lip, avoiding Hotch’s gaze. Reid fussed with the ends of the scarf that Spaulding had wrapped around him, then put his hands in his pockets and stared at his shoes. 

“Dr. Reid, I want you to catalogue the titles, authors, editions, and the condition of every volume. Once a list has been compiled, the books themselves should be combed for trace evidence, fingerprints, hairs, fibers,” Dr. Lind ordered. “Trovinger went through a lot of trouble and effort to leave those books here. I can’t help but feel the message may be in the books, and not in the letter.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Reid nodded. 

“I’d like for Agent Morgan to coordinate with Fletcher on the basement reconstruction, if you don’t mind?” Schultz asked. 

“Not at all. He’s perfect for the assignment,” Dr. Lind nodded. 

“Happy to help,” Morgan agreed. 

“Dr. Blake is re-examining all the previous correspondence between Edward Trovinger and Dr. Ramirez,” Hotch interjected. “Maybe she’ll find something we missed the first time around.” 

“Very good. Agent Thomas, you should contact the area U-Haul locations. We need to know where Trovinger rented the truck, where he parked it, where he made the switch,” Dr. Lind said. “Agent Schultz, what do you have in mind? I see the wheels turning.” 

“I’d like another crack at Davies,” Frank murmured. “I realize I’ve been shot down several times already, but since Reid has opened the door with her, having her concentrate on the murders of Lisa and Patricia instead of Ed’s whereabouts, I don’t think it would hurt for me to use the opportunity for more one-on-one time with her. Perhaps she’ll warm up to me. I’ll take over Reid’s task of combing through old newspapers, and talking to the local police.” 

“Good, very good,” Dr. Lind approved. “Has anyone heard from Rossi?” 

“He headed home for some rest,” Hotch answered. “Karl went home to get a few hours of sleep too. They’ll be back in the morning.” 

“Julian should be back from New York in the morning. I’ll bring him up to speed, and get him involved at that point,” Lind said. Thomas gave Schultz a wink and a smile, and Schultz frowned in reply. 

“The barn’s clear!” Agent Franzetti shouted from a distance as he emerged from the tall structure and headed for the garage. His fellow agents streamed after him. Franzetti and his entourage of bomb-shield-clad team members made their way around the smaller building. 

“Reid, if you need to leave the house, you need to take someone with you,” Dr. Lind ordered as she pulled on her gloves. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Reid nodded. 

“Keep me in the loop,” Simone pleaded before heading for her car.


	11. In His Element

11 - In His Element

 

“Wie ein Schwein in der Scheisse,” Hotch whispered teasingly as he stood up from his chair and rubbed Spencer’s back. (like a pig in poop)

“What’s that?” Reid shook himself, lowering the volume of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. His blue-gloved hands stood out against the faded cover. 

“You heard me,” Hotch chuckled. “Can I bring you anything from the kitchen?” 

“Is it too late for more coffee? I don’t understand why you’re mad. It was logical for Dr. Lind to assign this task to me.”

“Late? It’s early. The sun will be coming up soon. It’s almost 6:00. Logical to give you this task? Of course it was. I couldn’t agree more. I would have made the same assignments she made.” 

“Why the snark then? That is snark I’m hearing, isn’t it?” Reid wondered. 

Hotch was setting up a fresh pot of coffee, and pretended he was too far away to hear what Reid was saying. Or perhaps he was too far away. Reid put down the book after noting the edition. He stretched loudly, and headed into the kitchen. 

“Be patient. I’m working on it,” Hotch chided gently as Reid opened the cabinet and pulled down two clean mugs. 

“I’m sure Dr. Lind did not mean to make it sound like you would be assisting me,” Spencer offered as Hotch pulled the milk from the fridge and turned around again. “Are you hungry? I could make you an omelet.” 

“No, thanks. Too early for me to eat. You like the idea though, me assisting you, you ordering me around. I know you liked having Davies at your beck and call while you were in Cryptology,” Hotch countered. 

“She wasn’t at my beck and call. We were a team. Like you and I are a team.”

“I am not your little minion,” Hotch murmured, reaching over to tug on Reid’s chin and then dot a quick kiss on his lips. 

“I’m sure that is not what Dr. Lind meant to imply.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

“How was the parent/teacher conference?” Reid asked. 

“Avoidance behavior.” 

“Did you meet Mia’s moms or Bobby’s dad? Are Jack’s marks improving?” Reid wondered innocently. The coffee pot was gurgling as it finished brewing. Hotch studied Reid critically. 

“Ms. Barnes said Jack has improved tremendously in the last few weeks. He was having trouble at the end of last year, but since January, his scores have risen again.” 

“That’s wonderful,” Reid smiled. 

“I told her you’re tutoring him. She wants to meet you.” 

“She thinks I’m doing his homework for him?” Spencer worried, his smile falling. 

“The suggestion did come up,” Hotch acknowledged. 

Reid’s shrewd eyes traveled up and down Hotch’s person, and back again to his face. “Are you sure that’s all this is about?” Spencer asked. 

Aaron faltered, “What else could it be?” 

“You tell me,” Reid whispered to Hotch. 

“What?” Aaron blanched.

“What was Ms. Barnes wearing?” 

“Why does that matter?” Hotch laughed uncomfortably. 

“Because there are pink cashmere fibers on your sleeve and on your tie, and the strong scent of expensive French perfume about your person. Les Larmes Sacrees de Thebes, if I’m not mistaken. Ms. Barnes must be from money. She couldn’t afford a rare perfume like that on a teacher’s salary.” 

“What are you driving at?” 

“Ms. Barnes. Ms. Barnes. ‘Let’s not be so formal, Mr. Hotchner. Can I call you ‘Aaron’?’ Please, call me….Betty? Becky? Barbara? Bunny? It starts with a B. ‘Aaron, call me….’ ” Reid’s voice changed back and forth between his normal self and what he imagined for the teacher. 

“Bibi. Her name’s Bibi,” Hotch whispered. 

“Bibi Barnes. How charming. Well-to-do sorority girl. Established family. Maybe she’s old Virginia money, like your mother. She’s very single, isn’t she? She hugged you when you arrived. That’s rather over-friendly, isn’t it? Does she hug every parent who visits her, or only the handsome, married ones?” 

“What a jealous cat you are!” Hotch laughed, astonished. 

“You walk in, all wind-blown and dangerous in your dark suit and tie and wingtips. Ms. Barnes takes one look at you, and she thinks you can’t possibly be gay. That’s why she wants to meet me. She wants to know if I’m the gay one. If I converted you. She’s heard talk from the other teachers, no doubt. Knows about how you and Jack lost Haley. Knows you’re involved with a man now. So she tests you to find out how committed you are to this whole boy-on-boy thing you’ve got going on. Is it a phase or a real commitment? She gives you a hug as you arrive, maybe one as you leave too. She takes off her business jacket to give you a glimpse of tight, soft pink cashmere, and a hint of cleavage. Buttons stretched just a little, not too much. She doesn’t want to seem slutty, but she does want to be tempting. She’s wearing a necklace, something sparkly to catch your eye and draw your gaze downward. A butterfly? A pearl? Or perhaps a ruby, red as sin. She's wearing lipstick, makes sure to brush your collar. She checks to see where your eyes go while you’re talking. She toys with the necklace while she talks, and keeps pushing that one curl behind her ear. Straightens her skirt, and watches your eyes go down her leg. Oh my god, look at you blush.”

“Spencer, stop it,” Hotch growled, his cheeks growing red. It was both a tantalizing thrill and a sausage-shrinker, the way Reid was able to see right through him. 

“Well I must have hit pretty close to the mark, judging from your reaction. You passed the no-homo test, so she’s decided I’m the one to blame. This isn’t about Jack at all. She wants to get a good look at me. Size up the competition. That’s what it is. Prurient curiosity.” 

“Stop it right this second,” Hotch laughed, swatting Reid on the backside. 

“Is she purty?” Reid taunted. 

“Who?” 

“Don’t toy with me, Hotshot. I will eat you alive,” Spencer warned playfully. 

“She is pretty,” Hotch admitted, heart thumping, face burning. 

“Is she blonde?” 

“What difference does that make?” Hotch sputtered. 

“That’s your Achilles heel – pretty and blonde. Buxom doesn’t hurt either,” Reid answered, brushing casually at Hotch’s back. “She’s tall too, isn’t she?”

“5-10, 5-11. Why?” 

Reid handed Hotch the long, blonde hair which had been dangling from his suit jacket. 

“Tell Ms. Barnes I’m so looking forward to meeting her,” Spencer whispered wickedly as he picked up his mug to return to the table. 

“Has Trovinger really read all these books?” 

Reid paused mid-movement. 

“Avoidance behavior,” he echoed. Hotch gave him a dark look. “Don’t you want to talk about Bibi?” Spencer cackled happily in a singsong voice. Hotch’s look turned even more foul. Reid snickered quietly, letting his fingers drop on the next book in the stack. “Yes. I do believe he has read them all.” 

Ensign James tapped at the back door. Hotch reached over to let him in. 

“Have some coffee. Beware of the doctor. He’s in a mood,” Aaron said as he pointed at the java, and then at Reid in the other room. 

“I’m in a mood?? You’re the one who’s being hormonal over Jack’s teacher,” Reid laughed.

“I am not!” Hotch howled. James poured some coffee and came to join them at the table. 

“Should I go out and come in again?” he asked. 

“No. It’s not you,” Reid promised, glaring at Hotch. “It’s Mr. Roving Eyes over here.”

“It’s not my fault she hugged me, twice. Coming and going,” Hotch rattled off the words, defensive and grumpy. 

“ ‘Coming and going, and going and coming, and always much too soon’,” Reid sung softly, laughing to himself. Hotch knew they were the lyrics to a song, but he couldn’t place the tune right at the moment. (Lili von Shtupp, Blazing Saddles)

“Captain Spaulding filled me in on what happened last night. I see she wasn’t pulling my leg,” James yawned. “Trovinger broke into your house yesterday evening while you were out.” 

“Apparently,” Reid smiled at James. 

Reid continued to work his way through the pile, and was nearly to the end. He picked up each book individually, looked at the spine to note the title and author, looked at the front page to note the edition, and looked at the cover to judge the overall condition of the tome. The ensign followed him with his eyes. It was like eating M&M’s in front of a dog. 

“That’s a lot of books,” the ensign said. 

“Yes, it is,” Hotch mused. 

“Why not leave them on the front porch? Why break in and leave them here?”

“To prove that he could,” Hotch muttered. 

“The weather last night. He would never have left them on the porch in the rain and the snow. He loves these books,” Reid whispered sadly. 

“I like to read as much as the next guy, but wow,” James whispered. “How long do you think it would take to read them all?” 

“Sand,” Reid said as he picked up the next book. 

“Sand??” Aaron and Arthur asked in unison. 

“He was reading this one at the beach, perhaps when he was in Florida,” Reid replied as he dusted a few stray grains off the book in question. “Paradise Lost.”

Hotch laughed softly and sipped his coffee.

“It has a stamp from a community college in the Keys too,” Reid said. 

“Why do they only teach the big, heavy stuff in school? If students could relate better to the topic, we’d be more likely to read the material,” James asked. “Why do you think Romeo and Juliet remains a perennial classic? Young love, sex, violence, rebellion, rivalry, elopement, homicide, suicide?”

“They teach the heavy stuff because world literature is as much about history as it is about literature. What’s popular during a specific era in history can tell us a great deal about the mindset of the people of that moment in history, whether it’s stark religion, or medieval fantasy, or sweeping romance, or….” Reid babbled. 

“Ghastly tween novels about sparkling vampires and shirtless werewolves?” James chuckled. 

“Yes.”

“My sister has read those.”

“And you?” 

“I think they’re absolute mind-rot. But whatever floats your boat, you know? This is more my speed,” James piped up. He reached over and gingerly poked the stack of books Reid was working his way through. “Harry Potter! Which one is your favorite?” 

“Hard to choose,” Hotch answered. 

“All of them,” Reid smiled. 

“I remember reading those to Jack when he was little,” Hotch smiled nostalgically. 

“I was disappointed with the last two books. They were so dark and bitter. I liked the humor of the earlier ones. That’s what drew me to the series in the first place, the humor,” the ensign said. “That, and I kept waiting for Severus Snape to confess his undying love for Harry, once Harry was, you know, legal.” 

“That was never gonna happen,” Hotch laughed. 

"Ah, man, don't aim your 'canon' at my ship," James whined. "Bet you're one of those Harry/Ginny fans. My 'master/pupil' fetish squicks you out, but apparently you're okay with incest? The Weasleys practically raised Harry. Ron and Harry are like brothers, ergo Harry plus Ginny is not okay, not okay at all. That's just gross."

"I've got one word for you, Ensign-- Snupin," Hotch whispered. 

"No shit?" James piped up excitedly.

"What?" Hotch defended to Reid's astonished blink. 

“Gentlemen, I'm appalled at you both. It should be perfectly obvious to even the most casual reader that Harry belongs with Sirius, and that Snape will never love anyone the way he loves Albus Dumbledore."

"Snapeldore?" Hotch gasped. 

James gasped too, but in mock surprise. "Which book is your favorite?" 

"I’d have to say Goblet of Fire,” Reid replied. 

“Oh, good choice!” James exclaimed. He pulled on a pair of blue rubber gloves out of the box on the table and carefully, gently slid that particular volume out of the stack. He held up the volume to Reid, flashed the front cover, the spine, and the first page at him. 

“Thanks,” Reid smiled. “Where did Franklin wander off to? I heard him drive in earlier.” 

“He’s around,” James waved a hand about as he spoke. “Captain said we’re doubling up until further notice. Frank said he’ll be scouting the perimeter,” James added. Reid was listening with one ear while watching Hotch yawn. 

“If you’re tired, you could catch a couple hours sleep upstairs,” Reid offered. 

“No, I’m good,” Hotch said to Reid. “Be careful with that,” he said as he turned his attention back to James. “We have to keep the books as pristine as possible to search for trace evidence.”

“If any clues fall out, I’ll bring them to you,” James said, standing up, taking the book, and moving to sit on one of the chairs in the TV room. He sat down but stood up again immediately, moved sideways, and sat once more. He stood up again, moved sideways a few more inches, and finally perched on the edge of the divan. 

“What are you doing?” Reid asked. 

“Frank said he’s shoot me if I let you out of my sight.” 

“I don’t think he meant that literally,” Reid shook his head as he smiled. 

“I’m not taking any chances.” 

“Does he often threaten to shoot you?” Reid wondered. 

“Did you know that with a scope on his rifle and the proper weather conditions, Frank can pick off a moving target at a mile’s distance?” 

“Can he really?” Hotch asked. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Reid nodded grimly. He continued to scan through the books. He was not surprised either by the titles that were stacking up around him. There were any number of religious texts: The Qur’an, The Torah, Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu, and The Rule of Three, among others. There were ten, different world literate textbooks, all stamped with ‘Florida Keys Community College’ on the bottom. Various pages in each text were marked with thin strips of newspaper. Reid mentally lined up the newspaper pieces, and completed the front page from a school newspaper dating back to April 1990. Each location corresponded with a passage that Trovinger had sent to Dr. Ramirez.

The complete works of Shakespeare were present in several well-worn bound volumes. The complete works of Edgar Allan Poe had seen plenty of attention too. There were odds and ends from the Bronte sisters, but not their major works. Arthur C. Clarke. J.R.R. Tolkien. Ray Bradbury. Ellis Peters. What struck Reid was that he owned many of the same books that Ed Trovinger owned. Ed’s books were organized in groups by topic and by author. While Ed clearly liked classic literature, he had a weakness for ghost stories. He liked modern fiction. He liked spy novels. He liked mysteries. He liked adventure fiction. He liked science fiction. But the books which had been read and reread and thumbed through and taped back together were the ghost stories. There were actually thirteen different copies of Hamlet. That was definitely worth noting. 

There were bookmarks in some of the books. Reid was careful to note particular details about each bookmark, where it was from, where it was in the book, what it might have indicated, if there were any notations on the bookmark itself. Trovinger had apparently scoured second-hand book stores along the East Coast, starting in Key West and heading as far north as Boston. He liked water cities – no doubt about that. But there were books and bookmarks from other countries, other cities, in other languages. England, France, Spain, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Russia. It was as if Ed had picked up books everywhere he had ever been. 

“You know what’s curious?” Reid called out to no one in particular. 

“What’s that?” Hotch asked. 

“We know Ed Trovinger is very religious. His correspondence with Dr. Ramirez contained several quotes from the Bible, and from the Vasile Letters. But there’s no Bible here, and there’s no copy of the Vasile Letters either.” 

“He must have kept them with him,” Hotch speculated. Reid lit up, his back straightening. 

“My God, that’s brilliant!” he exclaimed. “You’re right!” 

“Don’t look so shocked,” Hotch laughed brightly. “I do manage an intelligent thought every now and then.” 

“I’m serious! Those books are so dear to Trovinger that he cannot be parted from them. We have to ask ourselves why leave these here, but keep his Bible?”

“We’ve already established that he’s religious,” Hotch shrugged. 

“Oh! Oh! Damn! Oh!” Reid flailed to his feet, almost tripping over the stacks and stacks of books as he limped back and forth. Spencer was clutching at his lower calf as he sat down again. 

“What’s wrong?” Hotch asked as he feigned indifference.

“Charlie Horse,” Reid winced. “Damn. I got up too fast. Where did I leave my bag?” 

“Upstairs.”

“Would you be an angel?” 

“Oh, by all means, I would love to fetch your purse for you,” Hotch lisped.

“Fuck you – it’s a messenger bag, not a purse,” Reid whispered, laughing softly. 

“Fuck you twice,” Hotch whispered back, tickling Reid’s ribs before heading upstairs. James folded his book together and came back to Reid at the table. 

“Are you two okay?” James asked softly. 

“It’s nothing,” Reid mused. 

“Why do you two fight so much?” 

“We’re not fighting,” Reid denied. 

“Then why do you spat so often?” 

Reid thought about it for a second, and then gave a half-smile. “Make-up sex.” 

“Waaaaay more than I need to know, Doc. Speaking of which, have you been to bed at all? To sleep, I mean?” 

“Not since yesterday,” Reid admitted. 

“Maybe you should turn in for a few hours. It might improve your mood,” the ensign told Reid. “Think this means anything?” he asked, handing the doctor a tall, thin piece of doubled plastic with a pressed flower stapled inside. 

Reid’s eyes lit up. The plastic was meant to act as a bookmark. It was the approximate shape and size. He held it close to peer at the flower inside. He sniffed it. He touched it with the tip of his tongue, and analyzed the taste. 

“Pulsatilla vulgarius,” Reid declared. Hotch was returning from upstairs. He was dragging Reid’s satchel behind himself, letting it thump loudly down each step for dramatic effect. 

“What did you call me?” Aaron laughed out loud. Reid held up the bookmark so Hotch could see it as he entered the room. 

“Dane’s Blood. It’s related to the ranunculus and the anemone. Indigenous to England, a grassland meadow flower. It’s on the endangered plant list,” Reid replied. 

“Does your guy seem the sort that would pick and press flowers?” James wondered. 

“Not really,” Reid responded, putting the bookmark down on the table with the others that he had pulled. “What page was it on?”

James held up the volume to Reid. 

“Page 272, twelfth edition, 2002, from Scholastic,” Spencer noted. Hotch lifted the satchel, dropped it in Reid’s lap, and picked up the bookmark to inspect it. “Thank you, sweetie,” Reid whispered. Hotch winked at Reid, did a finger-spider dance through his short hair, and sat back down at the table. 

“What does this flower have to do with Harry Potter, or you, or anything?” he asked, putting the plastic back down. 

“Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.”

“You said it’s indigenous to England, and an endangered plant species. Would he have to have gone to England to have picked the flower?” James asked. 

“Not necessarily,” Reid cautioned. “He might not be the one who picked the flower. Maybe someone else gave him the flower, already pressed. Could be it’s been pressed in here for quite some time.”

“Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way,” Hotch suggested. 

“How do you mean?” Reid asked as Hotch shifted the paper that Spencer was writing on. 

“What do you make of all these older books?” Hotch wondered. “I mean, from a quick glance at the stacks here, I’d say they are about fifty-fifty old books to new books.” 

“He does frequent second-hand book shops,” Reid replied as he was digging around in his satchel. He pulled out his phone and put it on the table, dialing it flat. 

“Who are you calling?” Hotch wanted to know. 

“Agent Davies.”

“Reid, it’s 6 a.m.”

“She’ll be up.” 

“I’ll talk to her,” Hotch said, snatching up the phone when the first ring sounded. Reid yelped in protest, but Hotch put the phone to his ear. “Agent Davies? Is that you?”

Reid sat back in his chair and studied Hotch with narrowed eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“I’m glad you’re up. I wanted to let you know that Agent Schultz will be accompanying you to the newspaper office in Alexandria. Oh? He already told you? He called five minutes ago. That’s great. I also wanted to call and thank you for your help, Agent Davies. I mean it. We aren’t going to bring Ed Trovinger in without your help, and I want you to know how much we appreciate your cooperation and assistance. Wait, um, Dr. Reid would like to speak with you,” Hotch said, finally handing Reid the phone. 

“Agent Davies, good morning, sorry for the early call,” Reid began. 

“No. That’s all right,” April murmured on the other end of the line. He could easily imagine the grimness on her face. Hotch had phrased his words purposefully, and they had struck home. Hotch was insinuating that Davies was helping close the net around Ed, and April hadn’t liked that one bit. 

“I wanted to ask you if you ever saw Ed with a Bible.” 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Was it his Bible?” 

“No. I believe it belonged to his mother.” 

“That’s very helpful to know. You said he sent you books, when he wrote to you last, that he sent you books and chocolates with his letter. What books did he send you?” 

“Is that important?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“Did Ed really break into your house and leave his books there?” 

“Yes, he did.” 

“He didn’t…. I mean….. “April gulped loudly. 

“Agent Franzetti from ATF did a bomb sweep. There were no devices.”

“Thank goodness,” Davies whispered. 

“The books Ed gave you? What were they?” 

“Hamlet, Wuthering Heights. Pride and Prejudice. Sense and Sensibility. Little Women. To Kill a Mockingbird. Oh, that one is signed, by the way.”

“Signed by whom?” Reid asked. 

“I’ll get it. Let me see.” 

Davies must have put the phone down on the kitchen table at her house. There was a clanking of silverware in the background. A deep voice mumbled soft, unintelligible words. A plate thumped. A man chuckled. 

“April, your waffle is getting cold. No books at the table.” 

“Dad, it’s for work,” Davies sighed, picking up the phone. “Are you there, Dr. Reid?” 

“Yes,” Reid panted. 

“ ‘To Patty from Mom. Happy Birthday’. ” 

“What other books?” Reid pressed. 

“Jane Eyre. Vanity Fair.” 

“What is the newest publication date for the editions that you have?” Reid asked. “No need to tell me individual dates.”

“Um……58, 59, 66, 72. Looks like the newest is an edition from 72. Oh! The same year Patricia disappeared! Ed gave me books that belonged to his mother,” April realized with a gasp.

“Yes. I believe so. Can you tell me, are there particular passages which have seen more wear and tear?”

“Yes. There are words underlined in all of the books. I thought they might have been school books, that someone had marked passages for class assignments.” 

“Could you write down all the words that are marked? Separate pages for each book?” 

“Of course, Dr. Reid.”

“Thank you. Good luck with the newspaper search. Sorry I can’t be there with you.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Davies admitted mournfully. 

“Please call me if you need anything, or if you need to talk.”

“Will do, sir,” Davies agreed. 

The second Reid disconnected the call, Hotch was talking. 

“What are you doing? We need to see those books. We need to examine them. She has to surrender them to us. There might be DNA trace evidence from Patricia on the books. We could use it to match to her remains, confirm her identity that way.” 

“I agree. I will ask if we can have them, temporarily, the next time I speak with her. But she will want them back.”

“When we’re done with them, she can have them back,” Hotch muttered. 

“Headlights in the driveway,” James said, glancing over one shoulder and standing up. He seemed to vanish into the woodwork while their backs were turned. 

Reid wobbled to his feet and ambled for the kitchen door. By the time Reid got to the portal, Hotch was ahead of him and out the door. While Reid stayed on the stoop, Hotch went outside to greet Frank Schultz. Hotch and Schultz talked for a moment, and then Hotch went into the garage. He came back out with Reid’s spiral notebook from the workbench. Schultz slipped the notebook into an evidence pouch. Hotch was chatting Schultz up as they walked towards the house. Schultz was counting pages in the notebook. 

“….and the books could be significant in terms of evidence.” 

“I’ll talk to Agent Davies about giving me the books,” Schultz agreed. 

“You shouldn’t be outside,” Hotch scolded when he spotted Reid on the back stoop. 

“You look dead tired,” Reid said to Schultz. 

“I’m good. I had a nap back at the office. I’m headed over to see Agent Davies after I talk to you two. Can I come inside?” 

“Sure,” Hotch said, pulling Reid back in and letting Schultz follow. Frank closed the door, stifling a yawn.


	12. Impressions

12 - Impressions

 

“You’re here about the letter, aren’t you?” Reid asked. “It must be important, or you would have waited until later.” 

Schultz didn’t answer. Hotch continued to hold tight to Spencer’s arm. Frank was debating whether or not it would be a good idea to reveal what he had found. Was he concerned about Hotch’s reaction, or about Reid’s reaction? 

“Whatever it is, I’d rather know than not know,” Reid insisted. 

Schultz’s continued silence was gnawing at Reid’s carefully-maintained façade. Frank finally dug inside his jacket. He retrieved a photocopied page from an interior pocket, and reluctantly handed it to Reid. Spencer’s eyes scanned the typed words in a flash, then came back to rest on Schultz’s worried face. 

“ ‘Dear Dr. Reid: I’m very sorry about what happened in November. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. Your guardian angel will earn his keep. Tell April not to worry. I am making things right again. It’s all so clear now, God’s plan for me. I will leave you a peace offering before I go. I promise to be in touch in the future. Ed’,” Reid murmured the words aloud. 

“ ‘Ed’?” Hotch muttered. “That’s awfully familiar. He wants to make nice with you.” 

“Any trace evidence on the actual letter?” Reid wondered. 

“No doubt the page was torn from this notebook. There were traces of oil and transmission fluid. Blue wool fibers on the end of the page suggest he was wearing a knitted sweater or scarf. It seems he was holding the notebook like this while writing on it,” Schultz demonstrated, tucking the bag and the notebook against his chest and pretending to write on the flat surface. 

“Go on,” Reid said, his eyes landing on the bagged notebook. 

“The page had Trovinger’s prints, your prints, and a third person, presumably one of your ‘ghosts’.” 

“Ensign Honeywell,” Reid murmured. He picked up the bagged notebook and studied the side carefully. The pages of notes of what work was needed on the VW van had been turned under, and there were tiny tags of material hanging loose in the metal spiral. “More than one sheet was torn out,” Spencer remarked. 

“Yes. It’s a 50 page notebook, and there are three pages missing.”

“Did he change his mind about what to write? Was he making notes for himself?” Hotch asked. 

“We don’t know at this point. Dr. Lind has asked a couple more agents to coordinate with us. Agent Blair is going to analyze the letter for further evidence. Hopefully she’ll be able to raise up earlier drafts from the impressions on the page itself,” Schultz said. 

“We know where he got the paper. What about the envelope and the pen?” Reid asked, giving the notebook back to Schultz.

“It’s unlikely that he was carrying them around,” Hotch said. 

“He looked around the house until he found what he needed?” Reid squeaked. 

“We have to assume he was all over the house,” Hotch replied. 

“This doesn’t leave any doubt that Trovinger is focused on you, Dr. Reid,” Schultz said. 

“He’s not going to hurt me,” Reid dismissed. 

“We don’t know that,” Schultz stressed. 

“Of course we do. Would he apologize for hurting me, express relief that I’m doing better, and then turn around and hurt me again? I think not,” Reid muttered, putting the copy of the letter down on the table and staring hard at it as he leaned over it.

“He might hurt you if you make him angry,” Hotch warned. 

“Then I need to do my very best not to upset him,” Reid said. “What do you think he means about my guardian angel? What about a peace offering?”

“Presumably he means the books,” Schultz yawned again. 

“He doesn’t want April to worry. That’s straight-forward. He’s been watching her enough to know she is worried about him. He’s busy making amends for what he’s done, but what exactly is he referring to? What he did in November? What he did to Agent Davies? What he did to me? What he did to Pam, and Rockford, and Rockford’s son? Or is he referring to things he’s done since November? Crimes he may have committed in the interim?” Reid rambled. 

“We don’t know,” Hotch sighed sleepily. 

“ ‘God’s plan for me’. Mission-oriented serial killers are the worst. There’s no reasoning with them. Once they’ve determined what they must do, they don’t stop. They can’t stop. They have to be stopped,” Reid rambled some more. 

“Yes,” Hotch stressed. 

“The tone of the letter is polite, not menacing. He’s apologizing. He wants to make friends. He’s relieved I’m doing better. So he knows I was not doing well at first. That would seem to indicate that he’s been watching me for some time,” Reid fussed over the page. 

“The surveillance team hasn’t seen him, so he’s good. He’s damned good,” Hotch reminded Reid.

“He’s kept enough of a distance that none of us has spotted him until that evening at Agent Davies’ apartment,” Reid continued to babble while staring down at the copy of the note page. "Perhaps he wanted me to see him the other night?" 

“Trovinger is ex-military. He’s had training,” Hotch observed. “You’re not taking any chances, Reid. I mean it. No slipping out while I’m not looking, or while I’m asleep.”

“Is that why you haven’t gone to sleep yet?” Reid questioned. Hotch frowned at him.

“You don’t go out for so much as a peanut bar by yourself, am I clear?” 

“No one is taking chances here,” Reid promised, lifting one hand to absently pat Hotch on the chest. “The peace offering. He means the books. Of course that’s what we must assume. But maybe not. It could be the books. But maybe it’s not. We don’t want to assume that. We could be missing something so obvious.”

“We should have the bomb squad do another sweep,” Schultz suggested. 

“Trovinger would not take the time and effort to remove the books from his own house, only to bring them here and blow them up. He loves these books. He wants to see them taken care of. He would sooner blow up a church than a library. Perhaps he sees the library as a church? Or bookstores. Of course. They’re hallowed ground for him,” Reid said. “The end of the message is a promise, a vow even. It’s not a challenge. It’s not a warning. I think he means it literally. He has a job to do, and he’s going to keep in touch with me,” Reid concluded. 

“For your own sake, Dr. Reid, don’t leave this house alone,” Schultz cautioned. 

“For the sake of my sanity….” Hotch whispered, touching Spencer’s arm to get his attention. Reid looked away from the page and up at Hotch. 

“Hotch, I swear I won’t even go outside if it makes you feel better,” Spencer promised earnestly. 

“Yes, it would,” Hotch nodded. 

“Agent Blair has the original of the letter. She’ll be by with her report later. I told her to come here because I’m going to rendezvous with Agent Davies, and get started with the search for clues about Lisa and Patricia.”

“Thanks for a copy of the letter,” Reid said. 

“You’re welcome,” Schultz yawned again. 

“Thanks,” Hotch murmured as he walked Schultz to the door. 

When Hotch returned to the dining room, Reid was halfway up the stairs. Curious, Hotch raced through the house to catch up. The ensign was at their heels. 

“Doc, you haven’t been to bed yet. Why don’t you turn in for a few hours of rest?” Ensign James suggested. 

Reid raced into the master bedroom, hurried to the bed, and sat down with a light-weight thump. He turned on the bedside lamp and flattened the copy of the letter from Ed Trovinger over the lampshade. 

“What in the world are you doing?” Hotch asked from the doorway. 

“There’s something on here,” Reid squinted, holding the page up to the light. He turned off the lamp and went to the window, flattening the page there. “You know how the copy machine in Hades is set too dark? The one in Ballistics is set too light. I'm sure this page was copied in White Collar Crimes.” 

“How do you know that?” Hotch wondered. 

“The light below the platen is too bright. It’s actually picking up faint impressions of the reverse page. I’ve seen those characteristics before on other copies that have come from the White Collar Crimes Unit.” 

“How do you know there’s a reverse page?” Hotch wondered. A slow, wicked smile warmed Reid’s mouth. 

“Most of the middle portion of the page is covered by the visible words, but see? Here? Down and left? 22030 1443,” Reid said. 

Hotch was immediately at Reid’s shoulder, lifting up the page to have a look for himself. The numbers in the bottom left corner were faint when viewed with the naked eyes, but when held up the morning light, the numbers were plainly visible.

“What do the numbers mean?” Hotch asked. 

“There are limitless possibility, of course, but 22030 is one of the zip codes for Fairfax, Virginia,” Reid supplied helpfully. “Trovinger has ties to Fairfax.”

“Why would Schultz copy this page in White Collar Crimes?” Hotch asked. 

“Schultz went to talk to Bernie. Or he left a note for Bernie to call him. She wouldn’t be at work at this hour of course. But Schultz went to White Collar Crimes, and made copies of the letter, one of which he left for Bernie. I wonder why Schultz went to talk to Bernie,” Reid mumbled, lowering the page. 

“Agent Rabovsky’s specialty is Cryptology. Maybe he wants to know if this letter is encrypted in any way. Also, Bernie could shed light on Dr. Ramirez’s state of mind, which could help us understand more about Trovinger’s state of mind,” Hotch decided. 

Reid stared bleakly out the window as the rising sun. 

“I shouldn’t have sat on the bed. I’m suddenly so tired. I haven’t slept since…..” he whispered. 

“Let’s turn in for a couple hours. The rest of the team will call us if they have news,” Hotch suggested. 

“I need a shower,” Reid lamented. 

“You need sleep. Shower later,” Hotch persuaded. 

“I’m going to go check the perimeter, just to be on the safe side,” James said, leaving the page on the settee as he left the master bedroom.


	13. A Particular Four-Letter Verb

13 - A Particular Four-Letter Verb

 

“22030 1443.”

“You’re supposed to be napping,” Hotch murmured, opening his eyes. He rolled over in bed and put an arm around Reid’s waist. Hotch had fallen to sleep almost immediately. Reid had tossed and turned and flopped around, dozing only lightly. 

“22030 1443,” Spencer whispered again, forearm folded over his forehead, his mouth a tiny, frustrated frown. All he could see when he closed his eyes was a rolling field of numbers, like tumblers on a bike lock. He had imagined them as tumblers, then as keys on a manual typewriter, clacking into space in sequence. 1443. 1443. 1443. He imagined the numbers aligned above slots or stalls, like the chutes at a race track. He knew that his brain was attempting to put the numbers into a pattern that made sense to him, and there were literally limitless possibilities available. 

Aaron nuzzled Spencer’s ear, murmuring again. “Turn it off. Relax.” 

“I can’t just shut my brain off, Hotch. I can’t just….mmmm….” 

Hotch hushed the words with a small kiss to the lips and then a flick of his tongue against Reid’s earlobe. He traced his fingers across Spencer’s tummy. 

“I bet I can find your off switch,” Hotch teased. 

“Lives are at stake,” Reid whimpered. 

“You said Trovinger isn’t going to hurt you, and he’s not going to hurt Davies.”

“He could hurt other people,” Reid whined. 

“Like who? Like me?” 

Reid sat up in a huff, turned around, and threw his pillow to the foot of the bed. He climbed over the top of the covers in the dim light, and balled up at the end of the mattress. Reid gazed back at Hotch for the longest time. 

Hotch patiently stared back. Aaron’s faint smile bloomed into a tricky smirk. 

“Reid, you can stop worrying. It’s not going to be an issue. I do know why Davies doesn’t want to give you the letter Trovinger sent to her,” Aaron yawned, turning onto his side and lying opposite and parallel to Reid at the head of the bed. 

“When did you figure it out?” Reid wondered. Aaron laughed, fluffing his pillow, and tucking it under his head. He curled his arm backwards and leaned on his hand. 

“About five seconds after you mentioned getting a subpoena. Is that what your private talk with Dr. Lind was all about? You telling her that Trovinger might target me because Ed wants to clear the way for Davies. That’s so cute. You want to protect me?” 

“You must have been a terrifying prosecutor,” Reid sighed. 

“I’ll have you know I am still a terrifying prosecutor,” Hotch insisted, sitting up and creeping towards Reid on the bed. He slid a hand down Reid’s hip, slowly down one leg, picking up his right foot. 

“No tickling,” Reid frowned. 

“No tickling,” Hotch promised. Spencer sat up, letting Aaron hold onto his foot. Hotch caressed up and down his heel, around his ankle, up his calf, back down again. “You’re very tense,” he commented. 

Reid snickered in reply. “You think?” 

“You need to eat more bananas.” 

“Why is that?” 

“Bananas have potassium. Or avocados. Or salmon.”

“Potassium will help with the muscle spasms, I know,” Reid sighed. “Calcium and magnesium will help too.” 

“Have you had potassium, calcium, or magnesium lately?” Hotch wondered, continuing to massage Reid’s calf and foot. 

“I had two antacids about three o’clock in the morning. Does that count?” Reid joked.

“You need to take better care of yourself. Tonight for dinner, we need to go to Mateo’s, and you need to have a banana daiquiri or two, some guacamole, and the blackened salmon special. How does that sound?”

“Heavenly,” Reid purred. “But Mateo’s doesn’t have salmon.”

“Where were we that you got that?”

“Oyamel, maybe? I do love Mateo’s though. What are you going to have?” 

“I’m going to order a whiskey sour, the hottest salsa on the menu, and the steak fajitas. But I’m also going to finish your second daiquiri while you’re not looking, and maybe steal a bite or two of your guacamole,” Hotch grinned. 

“You’re making me drool. I’m so hungry,” Reid whined. 

“22030 1443,” Hotch repeated softly. “What does it mean?” 

“It means we’re probably not having anybody’s blackened salmon special until this is solved,” Reid lamented. 

“Does Mateo’s deliver?” 

“No,” Reid squeaked when Hotch’s fingertips dipped over the sole of his foot. Spencer’s toes curled, and he scrunched up his face in anticipation. “No tickling,” he cringed. 

Hotch moved slowly upwards, fingertips brushing Reid’s ribs, then under his chin. He muffled Spencer’s soft laugh with a gentle kiss. 

“The door. We should probably….” Reid whispered. 

“Shh…..” Hotch replied, lips ghosting over Spencer’s mouth. Reid moaned into the kiss. He tasted of strong coffee and warm sugar. Aaron was unbuttoning Reid’s pajama top, casting an eye towards the open door. Light from downstairs was wrapping up around the banister and the landing. Hotch traced gentle kisses down Reid’s collarbone, down his chest. 

Reid’s left hand grabbed a fistful of Hotch’s dark hair. Aaron couldn’t decide if he was being corralled or encouraged. Reid shifted downward on the bed, locking lips with Hotch once more. The kiss was different – it was anxious and jumpy, full of need but tempered by caution. 

“Close the door,” Reid whispered bashfully. They were briefly nose to nose as Reid’s legs went sliding off the bed. Hotch grinned, reaching down between Reid’s thighs. Spencer yelped and moaned in the same breath. 

“James is outside, remember?” Aaron rumbled deeply in Spencer’s ear, palming Reid’s growing erection through his clothes, eliciting another deep groan. 

“It only takes twenty three minutes to….walk….perimeter,” Reid hiccupped words, hips moving unconsciously with Hotch’s hand. Aaron leaned in, giving a delicious, slow kiss as he unbuttoned Reid’s pajama bottoms and pulled them open to his hips. Fingertips teased inside Reid’s boxers, and encircled Spencer’s cock, giving it a gentle tug. Spencer grasped Hotch’s hand, reluctantly undoing his grip. 

Reid scrambled backwards this time. He rose up and walked on his knees across the bed. Once at the side table, he tossed a vial of scented body oil to Hotch, and shucked his undone pajama bottoms and boxers off onto the floor. He hid his nakedness under the covers and leaned back against the headboard, waiting patiently. Hotch smiled again.

Hotch pounced, arms running around Reid’s slender waist. Spencer panted his approval and encouragement as Hotch nipped at his neck, scratching tender skin with beard stubble. Their kisses became more ardent, less gentle. Hotch wondered how he wound up on the bottom, scalp scraping the headboard as his head sank backwards between the fluffy pillows. Reid was climbing on top of him, grabbing for his shirt hem. Like a drowning man, Hotch pushed his arms upwards towards the surface. Reid was tugging Hotch’s sweats down, nibbling kisses along his abdomen, whispering lurid things in foreign languages. 

The body oil seemed to vanish from Hotch’s hands. Reid was none too careful pouring it over his palm. A few drops danced over Aaron’s warm skin. The scent of apple blossoms filled the room. Thankfully Spencer was gentle as he smoothed the oil over Hotch’s cock. Hotch groaned impatiently. He took the vial from Reid, and pushed him back against the mattress. 

There was a faint crackle of limbs as Reid went backwards. Reid was glaring back at Hotch for a millisecond. 

“Ow,” Spencer whimpered. 

Hotch helped him upright again. 

“Sorry, Gumby,” Aaron murmured. 

“ ‘s okay,” Spencer whispered, rotating his left leg to the sound of more crackling. 

Hotch lifted Reid up to his knees, got behind him, and slid one slickened finger inside him. Spencer shuddered in reply, rocking on all fours as Hotch prepared him. He was moaning wantonly, eyes closed, fingers curled into the bedcovers. He arched his backside for Hotch as his shoulders sank to the covers. He drew one fist to his mouth to muffle the sounds he was making. Hotch continued to spread him, fingers curling, brushing against his prostate. Reid let go of the covers and yowled none too quietly. 

Hotch grasped Reid’s hips and slid inside him. Reid clutched the edge of the bed and hid his face as he rocked with each thrust. Hotch was almost hypnotized, admiring that little ass as it bumped and trembled with each buck of his hips. He watched himself disappearing inside Reid, and cherished every tremor and quake he was causing. He caressed up and down Reid’s spine, and Spencer keened, skin burning, body aching. Hotch gave Reid a swat on the side of his butt, and Reid responded with a shimmy and jerk, and a gasp of unexpected delight. 

Reid turned his head to one side, and Aaron studied Reid’s blissful expression. Spencer took a tighter grip on the side of the mattress. Hotch grasped Reid’s left hip more firmly and increased the intensity of his thrusts, adding an occasional swat as well just so he could watch Reid twitch and quiver, and buck his little butt. Each swat brought a squeak and an extra buck. Reid was groaning louder and louder. 

“Shhh….” Hotch cautioned almost as an after-thought, hoping Reid was too far gone to hear his half-hearted admonition. Aaron loved the way he could break through Reid’s façade of control. He listened with greedy pleasure as Reid let out one hoarse moan after another, eyes closed, hips jerking. Spencer must have heard himself. Aaron watched him biting the bedcovers, attempting to muffle himself. Aaron leaned down and latched onto Spencer’s shoulder, sucking a mark to pale, sweet flesh. The harder Hotch bit, the louder Reid got, and the faster Hotch’s hips moved. Hotch smiled broadly to himself, bouncing Reid in time to the drumbeat of the blood thumping in his ears. He reached under Reid and started stroking him. 

Reid cried out at the touch of Hotch's strong hand gripping his cock. He was pushing back against Hotch’s hips almost desperately. Hotch could feel the end was near for both of them. Almost there. Almost there. The bed was jerking. The settee actually shifted an inch or two away. Reid inhaled deeply, and climaxed with a loud, erotic wail which left no doubt to anyone in hearing range exactly what was going on in their bedroom. Reid then began shouting Hotch’s name at the top of his lungs, along with a particular, four-letter verb. 

‘Oh God,’ was Hotch’s last coherent thought, followed by the unrestrained bliss of orgasm. Blood rushed in his veins and brilliant stars filled his brain as his entire body stiffened with pleasure. When he eventually relaxed down against Reid’s gasping, panting, curled-up form, Hotch wondered vaguely if he had heard feet on the staircase. Hotch cradled Spencer in his arms, nosing kisses to Reid’s face and neck. Behind them, the bedroom door was pulled closed from the outside.


	14. There's a Light

14 - There's A Light

 

The snap of a wet towel woke Reid up. It was a rude awakening, to say the least. After shaking the bed and raising the roof, Reid and Hotch had curled up together and gone to sleep. Reid had no idea how long they may have napped. It was the sound of the towel more than the impact against his skin, not that that hadn’t alarmed him too. It had trigged a distant memory in his brain about being tormented in the gym locker room in high school. Spencer lashed out, arms and legs all swinging, and tumbled right off the side of the bed. 

Reid’s befuddled brain worked out that he was both awake and on the hard floor. A second later, he was leaning against a partially-wet Hotch, who always emerged from the shower smelling like ancient earthen elements. Reid wasn’t sure how Aaron pulled that off, because none of his personal hygiene products smelled that way, but there it was. Hotch had shaved – his stubble was gone. Aaron’s hair was matted down, and he was dripping droplets onto Spencer as he hugged him close. 

“Honey, I thought you were playing possum on me. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Hotch helped Spencer upright, kissing and nibbling at his hands, moving in close to kiss his face. Reid batted sleepily at Hotch. Spencer turned away as he pushed Hotch’s intruding face roughly in other direction. Hotch hugged a bathrobe around Reid’s nakedness. He was patting Reid’s limbs, making sure he was okay. 

“Sorry. We have to hurry,” Aaron said, pushing him towards the bedroom door. 

Reid’s eyes were half open. He stumbled down the hall in the direction of the bathroom. The door was open, and billows of steam were tumbling out into the hallway. If there were peripheral noises from down in the dining room, they weren’t registering in Reid’s sleepy brain. He concentrated on the bathroom ahead. Someone had run him a hot bath, filled it with scented bubbles, and had even tossed a rubber ducky into the mix. Spencer felt all warm and soft inside suddenly. He thought bath, and smelled bath, and started to drop his robe. He was grinning brightly now. He had sworn many times that the duck was only for decoration. As every kitchen required a kitchen witch, every bathroom needed a rubber ducky. Every now and then though, the yellow squeaky toy would disappear from the glass shelf by the sink and wind up in the tub, especially when Hotch would run Reid a hot bath. Spencer smiled, and slid out his robe before he was even into the bathroom. He heard a gasp, but he assumed it was Hotch. Heavy feet followed Reid down the hallway. Hotch collected the robe off the floor, and peered worriedly at Reid before closing the bathroom door. 

“We’ll be down in a second,” Aaron called out. “Start without us.” 

“We already have,” a voice called back. Reid of course didn’t hear the second voice because of the closed door. Besides, he was busy. 

Shampoo hair. Rinse. Condition hair. Leave in. It didn’t take more than a couple tablespoons of either hair product to do the job because Reid’s locks were so short at the moment. Soap up the sponge. Spencer really liked the new body wash that Hotch had gotten for him. He decided he might let Aaron shop by himself more often. If Reid had been wide awake, he could have placed any of the dozen scents which tickled his nose as he washed his sore limbs and sticky chest. Sandalwood and verbena were among the tones. Verbena had been used as a masculine scent since Roman times, owing to its association with Jupiter, Reid’s sluggish brain told him. 

His sex wasn’t awake yet, and it did not appreciate the rapid changes in temperature either. His legs. Oh. His legs. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Reid washed carefully down to his long toes. He wondered if he might be able to talk Hotch into another foot-rub. Maybe later. It was now time to rinse off, lie back for a few moments, and enjoy the hot water. Islands of bubbles floated around him. The image of his naked, lightly furry skin wavered back and forth beneath the surface of the water where the bubbles weren’t floating. His rubber ducky went by. Reid pushed the duck lazily with one finger. It floated down between his legs and towards the faucet at the other end of the tub. He pushed the duck again, and it rounded his leg, floating back towards his submerged chest. It was so nice to have a long tub that he could stretch out in. Nothing quite like these old claw-foot, porcelain antiques. Reid leaned against the sloping edge, relaxed his legs, and wiggled his toes happily. 

Someone knocked at the bathroom door and entered without waiting for a response. It had to be Aaron. Jack had quickly learned that the bathroom was one place Reid did not want to be disturbed, ever. There was nothing so important that you needed to open the bathroom door on Reid. He might tolerate someone talking through the door. But no one was allowed to come in except Goody. Somehow Hotch had never learned this, in spite of repeated reminders and a couple of tossed shoes. Haley had clearly been much too permissive with Hotch when they had been newly-married. Or perhaps his husband was a bit of a peeping tom? Spencer also considered another possibility as he yawned broadly. Knowing that it annoyed Reid to be interrupted in the bathroom might have made it that much more enjoyable for Hotch to cross that line with him. 

“You about done in there?” Aaron poked his head in. 

Reid blinked at Hotch and smiled in reply. He wasn’t awake enough for words yet. All Reid could think was how nice the water felt, and how he’d like to stay in here for a few more minutes. Hotch had other ideas. He was impatient for Reid to finish. Why was Hotch frowning at him like that? 

“Get dressed, Reid,” Hotch chided. He hung a dark blue suit and darker blue tie up on the back of the door. He laid out matching boxers and socks, and a clean, white tee-shirt on the commode. He dropped shoes by the door too. It was the shoes that woke up Reid’s brain as they clunked to the floor. There must be a very good reason for Hotch to bring shoes, and a business suit in here. Usually Reid dressed in the bedroom. 

Reid shook himself awake, rinsed off again, and pulled the plug in the tub. He was dried and dressed in three minutes. He combed his hair by running his fingers through his locks. He turned on the electric shaver for a quick trip around his features. The rubber ducky was pirouetting in the tub as the drain made a loud, sucking noise. Reid brushed his teeth and swished with mouthwash, spitting into the sink while wishing for a cup of coffee. 

Reid straightened up to inspect his image in the clouded-over mirror. A movement distracted his eyes. When he glanced out the high window next to the mirror, and down through the tumble of tree limbs, he could see an unfamiliar car pulling into the driveway. That didn’t alarm him nearly as much as the fact that there were other cars already in the driveway. Reid caught his breath as dread climbed his spine. 

Reid stepped into his shoes and opened the bathroom door, his heart heavy with fear. He crossed the landing and peered over the banister. Hotch was walking around the dining room table, handing out pages of notes to the team members assembled below. It was clear from the spread-out pages and half-empty cups that everyone had been there for quite some time. Their coats were all hung on the hooks by the front door. 

Hotch felt Reid’s shadow and looked up long enough to give Reid a very impatient frown. Dr. Lind’s eyes were glued to the white board she was writing on. Presumably she had been the one to bring the thing there. Reid was quietly reconsidering the decision that everyone should rendezvous at Hotch and Reid’s residence. As Reid hurried across the landing, and his hand touched the banister for support, Dr. Blake’s eyes rose up. Alex was smiling at him in a fond and motherly manner. Torg looked up next. Karl blushed, immediately looking away. Rossi grinned broadly. Captain Spaulding was disappearing into the kitchen. 

“Have other team members checked in since last night?” Lind asked of anyone in general. 

“Morgan is working with Fletcher and the ATF on the reconstruction of the basement scene. Thomas continues his quest to find the correct U-Haul location where Trovinger rented his box truck. He’ll get back to us soon,” Blake answered. 

“Have you heard from Agent Aguilar?” Rossi asked. 

“Julian called me this morning. He will be in New York longer than he thought. The jury is in its third day of deliberation, and there are no signs that they will reach a decision soon,” Dr. Lind was saying as she tacked a photo or two up on the board, which she had pushed back against the wall in front of the windows. “Ah, Dr. Reid. Glad you could join us,” she murmured finally. 

“Ma’am,” Reid nodded, crossing the foyer and walking around the stacks of books to get into the dining room. “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

Rossi cackled loudly. Torg could not have been any redder than he was. The young agent squirmed in his chair and avoided looking directly at Reid. Blake gave Rossi a serious frown.

“No, son, you clearly didn’t,” Dave confirmed. There was something about the way he said that which gave Reid pause. 

“Sorry we had the radio so loud,” Hotch interjected, clearing his throat. Rossi rose to the challenge. 

“That was the radio?" he asked. 

“There’s coffee and sweet rolls in the kitchen,” Torg offered as a distraction. Dave could not stop chuckling. 

“If we could direct our attention back to our case?” Dr. Lind requested dryly as Reid made a beeline to the kitchen and hid behind the arched doorway. He wasted time making and drinking a cup of coffee, and consuming an entire sticky bun, before he dared to glance back at the assembled team. Hotch’s head swiveled, and dark eyes searched everywhere. Reid ducked back behind the doorway again.

“Reid? Where the hell are you?” Hotch bellowed in annoyance. 

“If you empty the pot, make another one, would you, dear?” Blake called out. 

Reid poured himself a second cup, and went slowly and deliberately through the motions of making another pot of coffee. A glance at the calendar on the wall reminded him this was Sunday. A glance at the clock on the stove told him it was not quite eleven in the morning. Counting the tossing and turning before sex, and the dead-to-the-world snoring after sex, he might have gotten three hours’ sleep, altogether, maybe. The very thought of that realization made Reid tired again. 

“Reid, the coffee machine will brew without you watching,” Hotch called out. 

Spencer stood in the doorway, drying his fingers on a kitchen towel. He hung up the towel, picked up his coffee mug, and finally came to the dining room table. Reid sat gingerly in the chair next to Dr. Blake. It was impossible to avoid the meaningful grin and wiggling eyebrows of Dave Rossi. Blake patted Spencer’s arm and smiled at him tenderly again. 

Captain Spaulding was escorting an unfamiliar agent into the house through the kitchen. The coffee machine gurgled loudly. Reid leapt up to make sure it didn’t bubble over. Hotch huffed in exasperation. Everyone turned to study the newcomers, some because they weren’t accustomed to seeing members of Reid’s surveillance team in the flesh, and others because they had yet to meet the new agent. 

“Is that fresh coffee?” she whispered as she inhaled deeply, crossing through the kitchen with a friendly smile weaving across her face. She switched her leather bag to her other arm, and stuck a hand at Reid. In slow motion, Spencer lowered his cup and decided against his usual no-shake policy. “Special Agent Lucille Blair. Call me Lucy.”

Agent Blair was in her early forties, with medium-dark skin, a broad, full mouth, a wide jaw, and a long nose. She wasn’t exceptionally tall, but she had an authoritative presence. Her hair was long and curly, but it was pulled back at the nape of her neck. Her dark blue suit was tailored to her feminine curves, flattering but not flirty. She wore a wedding band on her third finger, and a child’s pink heart ring on her little finger. Reid’s eyes fell to the floor, expecting to find classic pumps or serious flats. Instead he found dark blue sneakers. His eyes rose again to Blair’s face. He was relieved to see that while he had been analyzing Blair, she had also been analyzing him. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid. Nice to meet you, Agent Blair.” 

“The infamous Dr. Spencer Reid,” Blair purred with a teasing half-smile. Dr. Lind cleared her throat, and the two women exchanged a quick look before Blair’s smile folded in upon itself. 

“I’ve asked Agent Blair to consult with us on this case. She comes to us from the Baltimore FBI office. She’s spent six years there in Forensics. Before that, she spent twelve years as a homicide cop working murders all over Charm City. She has degrees in Criminology and Forensics. She’s bilingual, Español. She's part of the mentoring program for new agents. She’s a decorated agent with commendations from every one of her former unit chiefs,” Dr. Lind listed. 

“Stop. I’ll blush,” Lucy smiled. 

“I want to make sure everyone understands that you got your job because of your qualifications, not because you’re a C cup with great legs, and not to fill race and gender quotas,” Dr. Lind remarked, giving Hotch a very meaningful look. 

“Welcome aboard, Agent Blair,” Hotch said firmly, fearing the pointed comment had been directed at him. 

“Thank you, sir. Where is Agent Thomas, anyhow?” Blair grinned. 

“He’ll be so disappointed he missed you,” Dr. Lind smiled back. “This is most of Agent Hotchner’s behavioral science team: Karl Torgeson—his specialty is ballistics; Alex Blake, Linguistics; Dave Rossi, Negotiations; and Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief, Marksman, Prosecutor. You’ve already met Dr. Reid.” 

“Hotchner. You worked with Dr. Reid on The Gorsuch case. Congratulations. Great job,” Blair chimed in to Hotch. 

“Thanks,” Hotch said.

“Team work,” Reid insisted.

“I thought the Trovinger case belonged to Frank Schultz and his team,” Blair puzzled. 

“Hotchner and Schultz’s teams are coordinating efforts, along Fugitive Apprehension, and ATF’s Bomb Unit. Have you crossed paths with Franzetti?”

“Yeah,” Blair laughed. “I’ve met Franzetti,” she confirmed. 

“SSA Schultz is with Agent Davies, chasing leads on Lisa and Patricia Trovinger. Fletcher is working with Morgan and the ATF team, trying to reconstruct Trovinger’s basement. Thomas is chasing U-Haul trucks. Aguilar is stuck in New York as an expert witness on the Delacour case. Where’s your Padawan? Peterson? You haven’t scared him away already, have you? I had to pull a lot of strings to let you bring along your guppy,” Dr. Lind worried. 

Blair chuckled, pausing to thank Spaulding for the cup of coffee. She inhaled deeply, and shook her head. 

“Peterson is stuck in traffic on 66. I warned him not to go that way. He’ll be here in a couple hours. He asked if he could turn on the lights and sirens. I told him no.” 

“What do you have for us on the letter?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“Time for the floorshow,” Blair bubbled happily. Her mood indicated that she was delighted with whatever she had found, or that she hoped her results would help further the case. 

Rossi barked laughter. “The floorshow? No, that was earlier.” 

Hotch gave Dave a poke in the side as Reid choked on a swallow of coffee. Blake patted Spencer’s arm comfortingly. 

“Sorry I missed it,” Blair said in a puzzled tone as she put down her coffee cup on the table and came around to the white board. She flipped her bag open and pulled out a file. She turned around and tacked three pages up on the board, and then passed out copies to everyone present. Dr. Lind backed up into a chair and sat down, flipping through the pages. 

“The letter to Dr. Reid was on page three. I expected to find earlier drafts of the letter on previous pages, but there weren’t any earlier drafts. The other two pages were lists of addresses, unexplained number sequences, and two crudely-drawn maps,” Blair reported. “Peterson and I scanned the maps in the computer, and took them for a whirl, hoping we could match them to known street configurations. We hit the jackpot. It’s a list of the locations which match the addresses on the other subsidiary page.” 

Rossi stopped smiling and sat up straight in his chair. “Is this Trovinger’s To-Do List?”

“Or is it his Already-Done List?” Blair suggested. 

“We need agents on these locations as soon as possible,” Dr. Lind barked, pulling out her cell phone. 

“Already done. I hope you don’t mind I took the liberty, ma’am. I told Peterson to alert the DC police, and then followed up myself with the Washington office on my way through.”

“Good job,” Dr. Lind nodded, putting away her phone. 

“Are you sure about these locations?” Reid quivered. 

“Yes. We matched the addresses, cross-referenced them with actual city maps, and this is what we got,” Blair replied. 

“What is it?” Hotch asked. Reid laid his page on the table. 

“That’s my former physical therapist’s office. That’s Mr. Northland’s home address. That’s his work address.”

“Northland?” Rossi questioned.

“The guy who went missing during the Gorsuch case? They found his car on the Bay Bridge, didn’t they? Everyone assumed he committed suicide because his wife left him and took their son away, but Mr. Northland’s body was never found,” Blake interjected. 

“Isn’t your former therapist missing too?” Torg wondered. 

“Yes, since January,” Reid shivered. 

“The third address? Who does it belong to?” Lind demanded. 

“That JJ’s address!” Torg exclaimed. 

“Yes, it is,” Rossi nodded. “I caught that too.”

“I called Agent Jareau’s number right after I talked to the Washington field office,” Agent Blair responded. “The phone has been disconnected. I swung by the address, and the house looked empty. There’s a for sale sign up in the front.” 

Karl inhaled in surprise. “She moved? When? Where?” 

“JJ is in California,” Hotch interrupted the stirrings of frenzy on Torg’s part. Karl had leapt up, ready to run, but he sank back down to his chair. 

“And you know this how?” Rossi asked. 

“Agent Hotchner, you didn’t discuss Agent Jareau’s exit interview with your team?” Dr. Lind asked Hotch.

“No, ma’am. FBI counsel made it very clear the meeting was confidential,” Hotch complained. 

“What happened?” Rossi asked. 

“Because of her actions on the job in Maine, the Bureau allowed Agent Jareau to transfer to a field office in California. However, things didn't work out at the new field office either. The Bureau terminated Agent Jareau last week,” Dr. Lind informed everyone in a crisp, clean tone which did nothing but amplify her obvious irritation with the topic of Jennifer Jareau. 

“They terminated her? That’s it? What about transferring her to another field office, or putting her on probation, or giving her a different position so she’s not overwhelmed by the demands of the job she didn’t have the proper training or education to undertake?” Blake commented sadly. 

“I can’t believe they fired her,” Torg whispered. 

“She rushed into the profiler position before she was ready for the demands of the job,” Blake insisted. "You can't blame her for happened." 

“All I can and will say is that this has been a long time coming. She’s been a disciplinary problem for more than two years, causing friction on the team, and acting like she was team leader instead of junior team member. Her actions in Maine more than demonstrated how out of control she was. And she took her attitude with her to California, which is why things did not work there either,” Dr. Lind grumbled. 

“How did she respond to her termination?” Reid asked Hotch. Aaron’s dark eyes narrowed venomously. 

“Jareau has countered her dismissal with a lawsuit claiming sexual harassment and sexual discrimination,” Dr. Lind added. “That is all I’m at liberty to say.” 

“Oh crap,” Rossi muttered. 

“Now I can believe they fired her,” Karl reassessed. 

“As I said, a long time coming,” Dr. Lind muttered. 

“Is the 101st still demanding that she pay for repairs to the helicopter?” Blake asked. 

“Yes,” Dr. Lind nodded. 

“Will decided they needed a fresh start. He got a job with the San Bernardino Police Department. I don’t have her new contact information. As you might imagine, we are no longer on speaking terms,” Hotch told the team while dodging the curious glance that Reid was giving him. 

“Human resources will have her contact information. They have to have it in order to forward her last check. I’ll get someone in personnel to contact her, and confirm that she and her husband and her son are okay,” Dr. Lind murmured. 

“What about the fourth address? 425 Massachusetts….” Torg asked. 

“Wait a second!” Spaulding blurted from the kitchen. 

“What?” the collective chimed as one. Heads swiveled back and forth like a group of sports bobbleheads. 

“That son of a bitch has been following me!?” Amy exclaimed, swelling up with anger.

“Captain, calm down,” Reid said, rising out of his chair and walking towards Spaulding. 

“I’ll put so many bullets in him, he’ll be pissing lead!” 

“Listen to me,” Reid stressed, putting fingertips gently on her arm. “If Trovinger is keeping tabs on you, we need to enact protective counter-measures to ensure your safety.” 

“Reid? The fifth address?” Rossi asked as Reid tried to calm Spaulding. 

“The last address, Reid. Do you recognize it?” Dr. Lind asked.

“No. I don’t recognize it,” Spencer answered. “It’s not local though. That much I do know.” 

“It’s New York. The Bronx. The address is a brownstone frequently occupied by faculty of Fordham University,” Blair provided. “We’re doing background checks on the occupants. There are several apartments. Sorry we don’t have a more narrow focus yet.” 

“What about the numbers, here, on the second page?” Dr. Lind asked Agent Blair. “What do you make of them? 22030 1443.”

“22030 is one of the zip codes for Fairfax, Virginia,” Blair answered. 

“And the other four numbers?” Alex wondered. 

“We’re running it through the computers. Not a clue at this point.” 

Reid pulled Spaulding into the kitchen to carry on a private conversation. Hotch was torn between following them, and staying put where he was. He caught a word or two – Spaulding was concerned about Snippy first and foremost. Reid was being consoling, but he was also being very firm. The captain would not be going home tonight. Reid would call General Scott if he had to, if that’s what it would take to make Spaulding stay here where he was sure she would be safe. Reid returned to the dining room, and Spaulding remained in the kitchen, dialing her phone while stomping angrily back and forth.


	15. Split Decision

15 - Split Decision

 

“Dr. Reid, I see from your notes that you finished cataloging the books, save for a handful,” Dr. Lind said as Reid returned to the dining room. He shook himself and concentrated on her words. “Can you tell me anything constructive about the books?” 

“The books were amassed over many years from a variety of sources, primarily from the East Coast of the United States, but there are some from around the world. Ed Trovinger frequents second-hand book stores, and appears to like a wide variety of fiction covering several genres, but he is most fond of ghost stories. This speaks to his frame of mind, that he’s more comfortable with fantasy than he is with reality.”

“He’s a loner with mental health issues. I think we already deduced that tidbit, Dr. Reid. What else did you learn?” 

“We should contact the Florida Keys Community College, determine if he ever registered as a student. It could be that he maintains connections in the area.”

“All right. That makes sense. What else?” 

“His Bible is not here. He has that with him.” 

“Why is that worth noting?” 

“He’s religious, and it has sentimental value to him.” 

“Anything else?” 

“I contacted Agent Davies this morning concerning the Bible, and the books that Trovinger gave to her. The Bible belonged to his mother. The books that he gave to Davies also belonged to his mother. She said there were words and passages underlined. She’s compiling a list of those passages for us, along with doing the archival research with SSA Schultz.”

“You think this may yield important clues for our case?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“I believe they might yield clues about why Ed’s father killed Patricia and Lisa.”

“How is that going to help us capture Ed Trovinger?” 

“Understanding what he went through as a child might give us insight into him.” 

“I don’t want maybes, Dr. Reid. I want to know how you feel solving the murders of Lisa and Patricia will help us capture Ed. That’s what I’m interested in. Solely and completely. We can’t have this man running around, breaking into houses, following FBI agents, or killing innocent civilians. This man has to be stopped. Whatever it takes. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Reid nodded. 

“I agree with what you said about Ed hiding away in his books in order to escape the harsh reality of his life. Maybe his mother did the same thing. Ed doesn’t relate well to real people. When he does break through and actually develops an attachment or a connection, he places super-high importance on that alliance. These people are not just friends – they’re messengers from God. Like Agent Davies. Like Dr. Ramirez. Dr. Blake, did you find anything we hadn’t already discovered concerning their correspondence?” 

“No, ma’am. I’ve been over the letters and emails and notes time and again since they came into our possession after Dr. Ramirez’s death in November. Those two created a perfect storm of chaos. Ramirez, with his paranoid leanings and overall bitterness, coupled with Trovinger and his mental instability,” Dr. Blake replied, shaking her head. 

“To say nothing of his bomb-making talents,” Rossi snorted. 

“What are we to make of Trovinger’s newest letter, the one to Dr. Reid?” Dr. Lind asked of the ensemble. 

“It’s an apology, and a promise,” Blake said, scanning over the page. 

“He’s found a new mission,” Hotch murmured. 

“What kind of mission?” Dr. Lind wondered. 

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Reid’s voice rose as he spoke, pacing excitedly back and forth. The wheels were turning in his head. 

“Now that you’ve catalogued these books, can we impound them for evidentiary study?” Lind wanted to know. “Reid?” 

“No. I believe that would be a grave mistake.”

“What would be?” 

“The books should remain here. If you provide me with a few fundamental necessities, I’m perfectly capable of examining each book for whatever trace evidence might be gleaned. I can keep them in boxes, all together,” Reid rambled. 

“Why are you against removing them from the house?” Lind asked. 

“What if Trovinger wants them back? He might get quite upset if I can’t give them to him on demand. I’d rather not upset him,” Reid responded. Dr. Lind nodded gravely. 

“How many are there?” she wondered. 

“One thousand seven-hundred twenty.” 

“How long will the evidence search take you?” 

“It will keep me busy for the next several weeks.”

“That would give us time to search Florida for Trovinger,” Dr. Lind said. 

“Why Florida?” Rossi asked. 

“Reid said there’s a connection to the community college there,” Torg interjected.

“Many of the text books come from there, yes,” Reid nodded. 

“I’ve been saying for months that we need to investigate his time in Florida. That’s where he was when he struck up the correspondence with Dr. Ramirez,” Hotch said. “I suggested this back in October, when you wanted to go to Odessa,” he smiled at Reid. Spencer nodded, a faint smile tracing his face for a second or two. 

“If we could locate someone he had a connection with there, it would give us more insight,” Reid agreed.

“You want to find his other messengers?” Dr. Lind nodded. 

“If we follow the trail of his past movements in Florida, we’re bound to stumble onto someone with a connection to this guy. He’s not a ghost. Someone has crossed his path before,” Rossi agreed. “It’s going to take time to follow that trail of breadcrumbs though.”

Dr. Lind agreed with Rossi with a frown. “Time is the last thing we want to waste when we’re dealing with someone like this. Rossi, you and Torg head to Florida. Start at this college. Trovinger either took classes, or he had a job there. He did not walk out of there with a stack of twenty textbooks without someone, somewhere having taken notice.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Rossi nodded, glancing at Karl, who was almost smiling. 

“Shake a leg, Grandpa,” Torg replied. 

“Agent Blair, I want you to concentrate on finding out who Trovinger is focused on in that brownstone in New York. It’s not random address. There’s a connection to our case, and we have to find it. Go to New York if you have to. Question everyone who even looks at that building as they walk by.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m on it,” Blair promised. 

“I'll watch your guppy till you get back,” Dr. Lind called out as Blair followed Rossi and Torg, who were headed through the kitchen and out the back door. "If he ever finds his exit," she murmured to herself. “Agent Hotchner, you’ve got practical experience with tracking fugitives, not just during your time with the BAU, but also when you were with SWAT. Putting aside your emotional involvement in the case, if you were creating a plan for tracking Trovinger, where would you concentrate your efforts?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“The trail in Florida should yield a few clues to Trovinger’s past, but I’d also take into account that Trovinger has turned his attention away from Agent Davies, and towards Dr. Reid. I would put a tail on Dr. Reid. I wouldn’t let Reid out of my sight,” Hotch replied. 

“You always say the nicest things,” Reid grinned. Hotch blushed and laughed. 

“In order to protect him?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“Yes and no. I would encourage Dr. Reid to go about his normal routine. If Trovinger is following Reid, the more normal Reid’s routine is, the more chance you have of spotting Trovinger.”

“Except that Trovinger isn’t following me anymore, is he?” Reid interjected, picking up the copy of the letter.

“Didn’t we decide he was following you?” Lind asked. 

“We could assume that, but we would be wrong. It’s in his letter. ‘I’ll be in touch’ would seem to indicate he’ll be away, doesn’t it?” Reid asked as he pointed to the letter. 

“Guardian angel. Those are the words that stand out to me,” Blake answered, tapping her copy of the page. Her eyes rose and landed on Hotch. “Does Ed mean you, Hotch? Or does he mean Captain Spaulding?” 

“Earn His keep. It’s a man,” Dr. Lind answered before Hotch could. “You know, this letter strikes me as very peaceful. Calm. Serene, almost.” 

“The careful choice of words, yes,” Blake murmured. “An apology, the reference to angels, don’t worry. Right. Clear. God’s plan. Peace offering. Promises. It’s not a suicide note either. He’s making plans. He’s got a plan. He understands God’s plan. He mentions the future, so he’s got plans.”

“You don’t believe Trovinger is planning an end-all-be-all, going out in a blaze of glory scenario in his head?” Dr. Lind asked Dr. Blake. 

“That would seem unlikely."

“Unlikely, but not impossible,” Hotch countered. “You’re dealing with a man who thinks God sends him holy messengers. He’s not going to be logical. He’s not going to follow a sane plan.”

“What are you driving at?” Dr. Lind demanded. 

“What if he’s planning to kidnap Reid the way he kidnapped Davies?” Hotch worried. 

“I don’t believe that’s going to happen,” Reid countered. 

“But you aren’t positive,” Hotch retorted. 

“I’m not positive, but I believe it’s very unlikely.”

“Why? He’s been tracking Captain Spaulding. He knows she’s the leader of your surveillance team. He knows if he takes out the leader of your team, that you’ll be vulnerable. He’s had military training as good if not better than your team has had. Trovinger could very well be planning to kidnap you,” Hotch insisted. 

“Dr. Reid? Do you agree or disagree?” Dr. Lind asked. Blake kept very quiet. 

“I respectfully disagree with Agent Hotchner. Ed Trovinger is not planning to kidnap me.” 

“Listen to me. That’s the only thing that makes sense,” Hotch protested. 

“It certainly is not,” Reid wailed. Hotch and Reid continued to war silently with their eyes. 

“If Reid is home, where we know he’s safe, do you think Trovinger will come here to take him?” Lind asked Hotch. 

“If I were Trovinger, I wouldn’t risk coming here again. Too many vehicles. Too many people. Agents traipsing in and out of the house?” Hotch shook his head as he spoke. "I'd lure Reid away, get him alone." 

“Agent Hotchner, we have to decide. Is it better that Reid stays here where we know he’s safe, but we know Trovinger would probably not risk coming near him? Or is it better that Reid roams around, and draws Trovinger out of hiding?” Dr. Lind asked. Aaron wasn’t sure if she was being sincere, or if she was playing the Devil’s Advocate. 

“You’re planning to use Reid to capture Trovinger?” Hotch asked anxiously. 

“I don’t want to put Dr. Reid in danger any more than you do, but we need to get our hands on Trovinger before he hurts anyone else,” Dr. Lind pressed Hotch. 

“For the record, Dr. Reid is perfectly willing to lure the dangerous psychopath out of hiding, if we establish a few safety measures first,” Reid interjected into their conversation. 

“Nobody asked you,” Hotch growled.

“What other options do we have, sir?” Reid countered. 

“Dr. Reid, I need to know what these numbers at the bottom of this page mean,” Dr. Lind pressed. 

“While there are limitless possibilities, my best guess is that 22030 stands for the zip code for the city of Fairfax. We know that Trovinger has ties to the city. He grew up there. He came back when his father died. He held Davies in Fairfax.” 

“He also blew up his house there,” Lind added in.

Reid gasped loudly, and his face lit up. He rocketed up out of his chair as if he's been kicked. 

“What?” Lind asked calmly. 

“Post office!” 

“What about the post office? Are you expecting a package?” Dr. Lind smiled slightly. 

“I have to go to the post office,” Reid blurted excitedly. Hotch reached out to take a grip on Reid’s arm as Spencer darted back and forth in place a step or two. Aaron missed by a fraction of an inch. Reid jetted across the room, knocking over one stack of books on his way to the front foyer. Spencer snatched up a coat, and sprinted back through the dining room to pick up his satchel, leaving his cane against the wall by the stairs. 

“Reid, where you going?” Lind wondered. 

“Post office,” Reid grinned, burbling happy sounds as he dashed through the kitchen and outside. Spaulding put away her phone and followed Reid. 

“Aren’t you going to, you know, follow him?” Blake asked Hotch. Aaron stood up, and sighed heavily in annoyance. 

“He’s not going anywhere. His vehicle doesn’t run. My starter is shot. Your cars are blocking the driveway,” Hotch murmured, going into the foyer and getting a jacket. A quick glance out the TV room windows showed Reid running back and forth beside the driveway, babbling loudly. Spaulding took his arm and then both shoulders, talking to him. 

“What’s at the post office?” Lind asked. 

“Damned if I know. But it looks like I’m going to find out,” Aaron replied. 

“Actually, Agent Hotchner, I would prefer if you coordinated with Agent Washington from Fugitive Apprehension.”

“What?” Hotch said dully. 

“I’m sure Captain Spaulding can see that Reid gets to the post office. You’ve got more important places to channel your skills rather than playing chauffeur and bodyguard,” Dr. Lind smiled.

“But…” Hotch protested. 

“Agent Hotchner, contact Agent Washington and meet up with his team.”

“Ma’am, I….” Hotch protested again. Dr. Lind cut him off with another look.


	16. Special Delivery

16 - Special Delivery

 

“This is it,” Reid announced happily from the passenger seat. Spaulding parked and turned off the engine, staring dubiously out the windshield at the brick and glass building. Numbers stared back from the front – 22030. 

“When you said post office, I assumed you meant your own,” the captain murmured. 

“No. This makes sense. This is Trovinger’s favorite post office. He brought Agent Davies here. They bought a box, brown paper, tape, and a pen—the materials used to ship the Prices’ possessions back to them.” 

“Yes. I remember. But it’s Sunday. The post office is closed.”

“The customer service counter is closed, yes. However, you can go inside and check the mail in your post office box, if you happen to have one, and I’ll wager….” 

The rest of his sentence was thrown to the wind. Reid got out of the car and hobbled towards the front glass doors. He entered the building, walking straight ahead to the wall of boxes. Spaulding got out of the car and locked the doors, then pocketed the keys and followed Reid into the building. As she was going inside, Miles pulled up and parked beside her car. Reid was making his way around the inside walls of the post office, tracing numbers on the boxes as he went. He went around the corner of the wall that jutted out at an angle, and another, until finally he exclaimed loudly. 

“YES!” Reid shouted. “Box 1443 – it’s over here!” 

When Spaulding located Reid, he was pacing back and forth in front of a row of tiny boxes. 

“It’s locked,” Reid reported.

“Well, of course it is.” 

“We have to get inside.” 

“What do you hope to find in there?” 

“A clue. A map. A letter. An address. A challenge. A quest.” 

“Doc, we can either pick the lock, or we can call someone with the authority to let us in,” Miles suggested as he came around the corner too. Reid fumbled in his pocket for his phone. 

“Hello? This is SSA Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. I need to speak to someone who can get me into a locked post office box at the Fairfax branch on Page Street, 22030.” 

“It’s not big enough for much more than a letter, that’s for sure,” Spaulding decided as she stared at the silver and metal rows, and focused her eyes on the one in particular, with the correct numbers printed in a vertical line next to the golden keyhole. 

“Thank you, officer. Yes, we’re already on location. If you could send someone, it would be most appreciated. We’ll wait inside. Yes. Thank you,” Reid said. He put away his phone again and faced the boxes. 

“I said it’s not big enough for much more than a letter,” Amy repeated. 

“Five inches by five inches. It would accommodate approximately fifteen #10 envelopes and their contents, depending on the depth of the box,” Reid chirped.

“Are the police sending someone?” 

“Yes,” he nodded. 

“We could return to the car and sit comfortably,” she suggested. Reid shook his head no, and leaned back against the wall of boxes for support. When he suddenly turned his eyes to focus on Spaulding, she jumped slightly. 

“I imagine it makes you nervous, the fact that Trovinger has been surveilling you.” 

“It makes me angry more than anything else.” 

“What did General Scott tell you when you talked to him?” Reid asked. Miles snorted. 

“He said to stick close to you, and let him handle the rest,” Spaulding replied. 

“He doesn’t want you to go back home tonight either.” 

“No,” Miles interjected. Spaulding narrowed her eyes at him. “James is going to stop by and get your dog. He’ll be fine, Captain,” Miles promised. 

“It’s about more than me being worried about Snippy. I don’t like having my movements dictated by a crazed psychopath,” Spaulding murmured. 

“You’re concerned about your dog. It’s okay. I had a dog once. I understand,” Miles shrugged. 

“What happened to your dog?” Reid questioned. 

“He’s too busy for a dog, Doc. He’s got a bun in the oven.”

“Cap….” Miles frowned. 

“Okay. Your girlfriend has a bun in the oven.”

“Congratulations, Lieutenant,” Reid said. His uneasy smile fell away. “Oh. Sorry. You don’t seem pleased at the prospect of becoming a father. Rather the opposite,” he added a moment later after observing Miles’ expression of dismay. 

“Kim told me she was using protection. It’s a bit of a surprise, that’s all. I’m not ready, and I’m not sure about all this.”

Spaulding was clucking her disapproval with him. 

“Do you know what my mom used to say? Don’t leave birth control up to your partner. If you don’t want to be a parent, make sure you take precautions.” 

“Kim said she was on the Pill. We can’t afford a baby. We’ve got a mortgage, two car payments, and two student loan payments. She just made junior partner at her firm. It was an irresponsible thing for her to do, get pregnant like this. We had a plan. Two years, three years down the road, when we were both thirty, we would get married and start a family. When we were established. When I was in a permanent position.” 

“You don’t want children?” Reid asked.

“Doc, I do want kids. But I want kids when I can afford to have kids, which is not yet.”

“Have you told the General?” Spaulding asked. 

“No.”

“Why not?” 

“Because he’ll reassign me when he finds out.” 

“Why will he reassign you?” Reid wondered. 

“General Scott has a standing rule against parents being on your detail,” Spaulding replied when Miles sighed heavily. 

“How did you not notice that none of us has kids? I can see where he’d have that rule for you, but it’s not fair to me,” Miles muttered, staring at Spaulding. Amy looked slightly taken aback, and then she became visibly annoyed. 

“Oh, no, mister, you did not just go there,” she said, shaking her head at him. 

“Come on, Cap. Being an expectant father is not the same thing as being an expectant mother,” Miles defended. “Back me up on this, Doc.”

“Do you know that the ancient Celts not only allowed women to go into battle, but they led troops, owned land, owned cattle, and served as judges and ambassadors and negotiators in tribal disputes and war counsels?” Reid put in quietly as Spaulding did a slow burn and Miles turned redder than his short-cropped hair.

“If the oink fits, Lieutenant,” Spaulding purred wickedly. 

“I’m not a sexist, sir. That is the simple truth of it,” Miles added, crossing his arms over his chest. “You being pregnant and being on this detail would mean you were putting two people in danger. My girlfriend being pregnant has nothing to do with me and my job performance.” 

“You need to tell the General before he finds out on his own,” Spaulding said crossly to Miles. 

“You promised you wouldn’t tell him.” 

“I’m not going to tell him. But you are. He deserves to know the truth.” 

“I don’t see why I should be punished because Kim decided the fastest way to get a ring on her finger was to get herself in the family way,” Miles pouted. 

“Seriously, Lieutenant. Now you are in trouble,” Spaulding growled.

“What?” Miles defended. Reid took a careful step back as Spaulding took a deep breath and prepared to launch at her subordinate officer. 

“Oh! A car!” Reid exclaimed happily. 

Amy spun to look outside, and pulled her pointy finger and sharp eyes away from Miles, who could not have been more relieved. Spaulding marched quickly towards the front of the building, and Miles followed behind. The captain flashed a badge, and made the newcomer show his ID as well. Miles gave the clerk a quick pat down. A police car pulled into the parking lot as Miles was frisking the young man. The clerk looked absolutely terrified. The trio re-entered the building, their voices echoing in the Sunday still. The police remained outside, two of them in the vehicle talking back and forth with one another and with someone on the radio. 

“Let me get my keys. Which box did you need in?” the clerk said as he unlocked the door that would allow him into the room which opened over the customer service counter. Spaulding and Miles escorted the clerk over to where Reid was standing. The young man’s hands were shaking, and his keys were jingling. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you on a Sunday. We need box 1443. We don’t have a warrant. But we’re hoping you can help us?” Reid said as he showed the clerk his credentials. 

“What’s this all about?” he asked. The clerk was a young and attractive, friendly enough, curious, and nervous – all the things one might expect him to be in this situation. In short, he was not being deceptive or uncooperative. 

“Can you tell us who is renting this box?” Reid wondered. 

“I’ll turn on the computer and find out,” the clerk agreed. 

“How long have you been here at this branch?” Reid asked. 

“For a couple years,” the clerk replied. He opened box number 1443 finally. 

Reid peered into the slender aperture as he pulled on a blue rubber glove. He looked puzzled at whatever was there. He reached his fingers inside and plucked out two keys. 

“That one opens this box,” the clerk supplied helpfully, tapping the smaller of the two. “See the number on it?” 

“How did he lock the box from the outside if the key was on the inside?” Miles asked. 

“He must have two keys to this box,” the clerk explained. “You have to use a key to lock it.” 

“Could you log into your computer and tell us who this box belongs to?” Reid requested. 

The clerk hurried behind the counter. Miles followed him, but Spaulding stayed near Reid. While Miles and Spaulding were concentrating on the clerk behind the counter, Reid pulled a slip of paper from his satchel, jotted a couple lines on the small page, and put the scrap of paper inside the box before quickly closing and locking it. Spaulding’s eyes returned to Reid as he was locking the box again. She didn’t have time to question the peculiar shine of excitement in Reid’s eyes. The police officers outside finally got out of their car and came into the post office. 

“Which one of you is Dr. Reid?” the older officer called out.

“I’m Dr. Reid,” Spencer replied. 

“We spoke on the phone. I’m Officer Dorsey. This is Officer Ferrell.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” Reid said. 

“You’re welcome. Our captain says we need to stay on the scene with you as long as you’re here, and that we need a catalogue of what you found in the mailbox.” 

“Two keys. We know the first key belongs to the post office box. The second key, we aren’t sure,” Reid lamented, holding the second in the palm of his left hand while slipping the box key into his pocket. 

“May I?” Spaulding asked. Reid gave her the second key, and she held it up to the light. “Any ideas, Doc?” she whispered softly, shaking her head. 

“It’s a mystery. He’s testing us,” Reid smiled. 

“It looks like a padlock key,” Officer Ferrell suggested. 

“Padlock keys do tend to be shorter than house cars or car keys,” Reid agreed. 

“Were there any safes or cabinets at the Trovinger house that were locked with a padlock?” Spaulding asked. 

“The basement door had a clasp and a hook, but the padlock was gone,” Reid answered. 

“Any sheds in the yard?” Miles asked. “Large trunks in the house?”

“Not on the premises.”

“Then what are we looking at here?” Spaulding wondered. 

“A door with a clasp, where you must provide your own lock,” Reid answered helpfully. His head tilted slightly as he added, “A gym locker, a storage locker, a storage unit?”

“There’s any number of storage facilities in the area,” Officer Dorsey interjected. 

“He’s leaving a trail of breadcrumbs to follow,” Spaulding surmised. 

“Why would he need a storage locker or a storage unit?” Miles pondered. 

“To store something,” Reid remarked with a tiny quirk to his smile. Miles rubbed the space between his eyebrows and tried not to squint at Reid in annoyance. 

“Why rent a storage unit, but bring his books to you?” Spaulding wanted to know.

“He didn’t want to put the books with whatever he needed to put into storage, and that gives me a very uneasy feeling,” Reid hummed. 

“How do we narrow down this down?” Miles asked.

“It’s impossible,” Spaulding frowned. 

“It’s not impossible. But it could be time consuming. How many storage facilities are there in metro DC region?” Miles asked. 

“We should concentrate here in Fairfax. Start with his comfort zone, and work our way out from there,” Reid burbled. 

The clerk was coming back with a printed piece of paper in his grip. 

“This mailbox was rented five years ago by Michael Trovinger. When Michael Trovinger passed away last year, his son Edward elected to keep the box. He renewed the box using the online website. He was managing his father’s affairs, taking care of his remaining bills, handling his mail,” the clerk reported. “Edward Trovinger requested a replacement key to the box last summer.” 

“That explains how he got two keys, but why would Trovinger keep one key and leave the other key in the box?” Spaulding asked. 

“He wants us to be able to open the box,” Reid answered, smiling.

“He wants YOU to be able to open the box,” Miles corrected. “He’s trying to open a line of communication to you, the same way he did with that guy in Cryptology who freaked out and lost his shit and shot Agent Rabovsky.” 

“Dr. Ramirez. The first key makes sense. Trovinger wants us to be able to open the post office box. But what about the second key?” Reid wondered.

“Trovinger wants you to have whatever is in the storage locker or storage unit,” Spaulding interjected. “That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“Edward Trovinger? I know that name,” the clerk said. “The FBI questioned me back in November about him. He’s that mad bomber who killed those FBI agents. He came in here with that missing agent. He was carrying a gun. I saw it in his waist.”

“You spoke with Edward Trovinger and with Agent Davies in November?” Reid asked. 

“Yes. That guy was scary as hell,” the clerk shivered as he nodded. “He didn’t like me one bit. And that agent he was with looked like crap.” 

“I dare say you’d look a bit rumpled too if you had been kidnapped out of your home at gunpoint by a deranged madman with a penchant for car bombs and cold-blooded murder,” Reid muttered. “Why didn’t you call the police right away when they came in, and you saw that Trovinger was armed? That he was holding an FBI agent hostage?”

“First off, she didn’t look like an FBI agent. Secondly, how was I supposed to know she was a hostage?” the clerk babbled. “He was being nice to her. I thought they were boyfriend and girlfriend.” 

“Nice?” Reid wondered. He was taken aback by the word. 

“He would have killed me in a heartbeat,” the clerk muttered.

“I’m not saying you should have challenged him face-to-face. But after they left the building, you could have at least phoned the police. You could have gotten a license plate number. You could have gotten a description of the car. You could have done something. But instead you chose to ignore the plight that Davies was in. The FBI had to track you down to speak with you. Why?” Reid asked. 

“Doc,” Spaulding whispered, putting a hand on Reid’s arm to make him stop advancing on the clerk, who was all but cringing back against the boxes at this point. Reid backed down, and accepted the second key back from her.

“Do me a favor, sir. The next time a dangerous man with a gun comes into your post office, in the company of a young woman in distress, call the police to let them know what you’ve seen.”

“I didn’t have any idea what was going on!” the clerk shrieked. “They could have been boyfriend and girlfriend, Bonnie and Clyde. She was none of my business.”

Reid walked out the door without another word. Spaulding and Miles were on his heels. Once outside, Reid limped around on the passenger side of Spaulding’s car. 

“Weren’t you a little hard on him?” the captain asked as she unlocked the doors.

“No. If anything, I should have yelled louder,” Reid muttered as he climbed in the vehicle. 

Inside the post office, Officer Dorsey and Officer Ferrell were talking matters over with the clerk, getting the details to write up their reports. Reid raised a hand in farewell and thanks, and Officer Ferrell waved back. Reid’s cell phone chimed. He buckled himself in, watching Miles get in his car next to them. Spencer retrieved his phone. 

“Is it Hotch?” Amy asked. 

“Hello?” Reid said. “Dr. Lind? Yes, ma’am. The visit was very informative. We’re coming back to the house. I need a map. Yes, ma’am. Right away.”

Reid put away his phone, and gave Spaulding a quick grimace. 

“That was Dr. Lind. I am to come home at once. Morgan and Fletcher have preliminary findings that they want to share with everyone.” 

“We’ll head back,” Spaulding promised. 

“Captain, if I might suggest….” Reid breathed.

“What?” Spaulding wondered. When she saw that Reid was darting his eyes around, studying the parking lot, the nearby parking lots, and the cemetery as well, she shut the engine off. “What are you looking for?” 

“Nothing,” Reid blurted much too quickly, setting his eyes back on her. A thin, wicked, plainly-deceptive smile bloomed on his features. The more Reid’s smile stretched out, the thinner Spaulding’s gray eyes pulled to each side, until she was studying him with mere slits of slate. 

“Doc, whatever you’re up to, you need to tell me.”

“I’m not up to anything,” Reid denied. 

“Are we headed back to your house?” she replied, turning the engine over.

“Eventually, but I need to make a stop first,” Reid begged. 

“Where are we going?”

“Georgetown,” Reid replied cryptically. 

Spaulding came to an abrupt halt at the exit from the post office parking lot, not only because of what Reid had said, but because his eyes were darting around again. 

“What’s in Georgetown?” she asked. 

“Hope,” Reid replied with a twinkle in his eyes.


	17. Reconstruction and Speculation

17 - Reconstruction and Speculation

 

“What are we looking at here, Agent Morgan?” Dr. Lind asked as she adjusted the computer screen on the laptop and angled it so that the other agents crowding around her could view the screen as well. 

“We’ve finished reconstructing the device Trovinger used to destroy his house in Fairfax,” Morgan replied. In the background, Agent Fletcher was walking around in the background of the shot, porting plastic bins filled with sealed evidence bags. 

“What did you find?” Dr. Blake asked Morgan. 

“We’ve confirmed what we already surmised. He used the same materials that he used in the car bombs.”

“What’s Fletcher up to?” Frank Schultz asked.

“He’s been collecting and studying evidence from the basement. Although we aren’t going to be able to reconstruct the scene entirely as it was, owing to the damage caused by the explosion, we are learning a few new details,” Morgan replied. 

“Did you find any blood evidence?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“Some of the carpet remnants did contain DNA, yes,” Morgan remarked, turning to signal to Fletcher. The younger agent put down his current bin and bounced over to the video interchange location. 

“Sir? Ma’am?”

“Agent Fletcher, can you fill us in?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“I haven’t found any evidence that would disagree with our previous working theory. As the coroner reported, Patricia and Lisa were likely killed by the same person, judging from the similarities in their injury patterns and their defensive wounds. Statistics bear out that the crime was likely committed by a close family member or a family friend. Given Ed Trovinger’s age at the time of each woman’s death, he would have to be excluded as a suspect. That would leave the father, Michael Trovinger, as the most likely suspect.”

“Go on,” Dr. Lind beckoned. 

“The advanced state of decay of Patricia Trovinger’s remains left us with very few clues, other than the state of her bones, and the location where she was found.” 

“Meaning?” 

“She didn’t put herself under that concrete floor,” Morgan replied. 

“Good point,” Lind agreed. 

“No clothes were found on the body, nor were there remnants such as sheets or coverlets in the shallow grave with Patricia. She was nude,” Fletcher said. 

“Meaning when she was attacked, she was in a vulnerable state? Getting ready for a bath, or getting ready for bed, or getting dressed in the morning?” Dr. Blake speculated. 

“Any of those are possible, but it’s also equally possible that her killer stripped her after she was dead, which I would tend to think is the most likely hypothesis,” Fletcher replied. 

“Why?” Schultz asked. 

“Her right forearm bears massive defensive wounds incurred while fighting for her life. She raised her arm to ward off blows from a heavy, blunt object. Whoever was attacking her was standing over her while she was lying on the floor, arms raised. Her right ulna and radius were both broken in several places. Her right arm was partially under her in the grave in the floor, twisted in a manner which would have been nearly impossible to achieve on her own.”

“If he stripped her after death, he would have had a hard time getting her sleeve off of her limb, because the limb would have swelled when he broke the bones,” Frank Schultz inferred grimly.

"That speaks to the degree of violence in the crime," Blake said. 

“Why kill Patricia and then strip her?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“Humiliation of the corpse,” Morgan answered. 

“You often see that in cases where the killer knows the victim, and has had a personal relationship with her, particularly if the killer feels the victim betrayed him or cheated on him,” Blake said sadly. 

“Was Patricia unfaithful?” Dr. Lind wondered. “Or was she planning to leave Michael?” 

“That doesn’t matter. All Michael Trovinger would have needed was the suspicion she wanted to leave, or the hint that she was unfaithful,” Blake responded sadly. 

“What about Lisa?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“She was killed in her mid-teens, when a young woman might begin to explore romantic relationships, which her father may have interpreted as her being unfaithful to him.” 

“I don’t like where this is going,” Dr. Lind shuddered. 

“Neither do I,” Blake replied.

"Michael kills Patricia over possessive jealousy or imagined infidelity. Lisa takes her place, caring for the baby and serving his physical needs?" Schultz shuddered at the thought. "She was seven when her mother died. Seven. My Madison is seven. I can't imagine. I just...I can't..."

“Lisa’s body yielded more evidence because it was fresher, by comparison to Patricia’s. Her grave under the staircase was a difficult space to get into. The killer would have had to have opened the concrete to put her into the dirt beneath the floor. There is evidence of newer concrete right under and behind the stairs themselves,” Morgan said. 

“Condition of the corpse?” Dr. Lind asked.

“Lisa experienced the same blunt force trauma injuries as Patricia,” Morgan answered. 

“Was she in the same state of undress?” Blake asked. 

“Yes,” Derek admitted shamefully. 

“No sheet, no shroud?” Lind confirmed. 

“None. Nude. Down a depth of three feet. Covered in dirt. Then covered in fresh concrete.” 

“What is it?” Schultz prodded when Morgan paused, frowned, and shook his head. 

“It was extremely difficult getting back in under the stairs where Lisa was buried. Her grave was covered over in fresh cement, and by carpet. You had to know it was there to be able to find it. I believe Ed Trovinger would have to have had a prior knowledge of where she was buried.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“He had to lay those devices in the right locations, or he would have destroyed the remains themselves. What he managed to do is remove the stairs, and enough of the concrete, to allow us to find the remains. That goes double for Patricia. She was in the far corner of the basement, away from the water heater closet, away from the washer and dryer. Ed Trovinger had to be precise with his explosive devices. I can’t think he didn’t know where the bodies were,” Morgan insisted. 

“What are you saying?” Blake asked. 

“I wonder if his father made him help bury Lisa’s body. I wonder if while Ed was being forced to help bury Lisa, his father was threatening him to keep him silent. ‘I killed your sister, and I killed your mother, and if you don’t keep your mouth shut, I’m going to kill you too’.”

“I can’t imagine what that must have done to a ten year old child,” Schultz shook his head sadly. 

“Ed must have been terrified. He repressed the memories of what he had seen, until the incident in Najaf brought them out in the open again,” Morgan speculated. 

“Food for thought,” Schultz agreed, giving Dr. Lind and Dr. Blake a frightened eye for a moment before turning his attention back to the screen.

“According to the coroner’s report, there was DNA from an unknown suspect under Lisa’s fingernails. At some point in the confrontation, Lisa clawed her attacker,” Dr. Lind said as she scanned an eye over the report on the dining room table. “Any chance we might recover Michael Trovinger’s DNA from the house?” 

“It would be a long shot,” Morgan shook his head as he answered. “Given the state of the bedrooms and the upper story?”

“Understood. We’ll see what we can do on this end to scare up a DNA profile for him. Thank you for your help, gentlemen. Head home. Get some rest. Report back here in the morning,” Dr. Lind ordered. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Morgan and Fletcher replied in unison. 

When the video link closed, Dr. Lind faced Agent Schultz for a moment before turning an eye towards Agent Davies, who was seated at the dining room table, gazing quietly around while she shuffled the pages in her hands. She had brought the books with her, the ones that Ed Trovinger had given her. She was thumbing through them, caressing them with her hands. Dr. Lind made a quick motion with her chin, pointing towards the kitchen. Schultz understood right away. Blake cleared her throat and waited. 

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to call it a day too. Head home to Rachel and Madison. Get a few hours of sleep,” Frank murmured, adding in a yawn as supporting evidence that he was indeed quite tired. 

“I’m running on empty myself,” Blake said. 

“Will you two be okay driving home by yourselves?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“It’s not far,” Schultz promised. “It’s Sunday night, isn’t it? Or is it Monday yet?” 

“Sunday night,” Blake confirmed. 

“Mm. Maybe Rachel’s making dinner? That sounds very inviting. I’ll be back in the morning,” he promised.

“Me as well. Good night. Call me if you need me,” Blake said, walking out with Schultz, while giving Dr. Lind a sympathetic glance. 

They made their departures as quickly and quietly as possible, leaving Dr. Lind and Agent Davies alone. Mr. Davies was visible out the kitchen window, if one was looking towards the garage. He was keeping himself busy. The garage door was folded up. Mr. Davies was peering inside the engine compartment of the VW minivan, wrench in one hand and shop rag in the other. 

“You and your father are close,” Dr. Lind began, lowering the face of the laptop and putting it away. She rolled her neck side to side and blinked tiredly herself. 

“I’ve always been a substitute son for him,” April replied. 

“Don’t sell yourself short. You are very dear to him, just as you are. You’re very lucky,” Simone replied. “I wasn’t close to my father.”

“Why not?” 

“We didn’t see eye to eye on many topics: politics, religion, marriage, college, career choices. I envy women who have supportive fathers.” 

“Your father didn’t want you to become an FBI agent?” April asked. 

“Oh no, dear. In my generation, that was not the done thing. I told him I was applying to the FBI after college, and he wanted to know why a teacher would want to join the FBI. It was a big joke to him. Were they going to make me run a three-minute mile? Were they going to let me carry a gun too? He consoled himself with the fact I might at least find myself a good husband if I went there.” 

“Did you meet your husband at the Academy?” Davies asked. 

Dr. Lind chuckled. “No. Bernie Rabovsky introduced me to my husband. But I promise I haven’t held that against her. Your father. He’s very supportive of you and your choices. He’s proud of you.”

“Do you think so? He’s never been good at expressing those kinds of feelings. Too much New England reserve.” 

“Trust me. He’s proud of you.”

“Thanks,” April smiled slightly, fussing with her pages again. 

“Thank you for your help with the investigation. Thanks for letting us have the books temporarily. I promise you’ll get them back. I’m glad that you’ve invested yourself in solving Lisa and Patricia’s murders. Ed could use a champion in his corner.” 

“I’ve been very little help to Ed,” Davies shrugged. “Not  
so much a champion.”   
“Perhaps a squire then? Have you found a knight worthy of your service, Agent Davies?” 

“Dr. Reid and I work well together,” April nodded, keeping her features as neutral as possible.

“Dr. Reid can’t say enough nice things about you. He appreciates you as a colleague very much. I’m sure Ed appreciates everything you’ve done for him too. It bothers you, though, the way Ed’s father treated his family. Given your own family dynamics, how close you and your father are, you can’t imagine a man turning on his family that way, killing them out of possessive jealousy, and terrorizing them their entire lives.” 

“Of course it bothers me,” April defended. “Doesn’t it bother you?” 

“It’s disturbing, no doubt about that. I’ve seen a lot of cases in my time though. The years help you develop calluses over your tender spots.”

“Do you stop caring?” 

“No, you never stop caring. But you do learn to set your emotions aside, and carry on with your job. You can’t sit down and cry every time a case breaks your heart, especially if you’re a woman. The Brass would bounce you out of the field so fast, you’d get whiplash.” 

“I don’t want to work in the field. I’m glad to be back in Library Services. I like the peace and quiet there,” Davies said. 

“I understand. It’s safe. It’s calm. You’re surrounded by books. I can see the appeal,” Dr. Lind smiled. 

“I wonder where Dr. Reid is. Wasn’t he supposed to be on his way back home?” April asked. 

“I was wondering the same thing myself,” Lind confessed. “I’m sure he’ll be along by and by, your knight errant.” 

“What is the worst case you ever worked?” April asked. 

“Far too many to choose from. Dick Trumbull, a serial killer in Alabama who was kidnapping boys from state parks – that one stands out. It took us months to get a lead on Dick. We finally cornered him at his mother’s house outside of Mobile. He was holding us off by using his last victim as a human shield. He had this huge hunting knife at the boy’s throat. Every word out of the negotiator’s mouth was making Dick angrier. I was afraid Trumbull was going to slit that child’s throat right in front of us, so I took a desperate shot at the offender, and hit the victim instead. Freddy almost died because of me. I haven’t carried a gun since.”

“That’s your worst case then?” April wondered. 

“The worst that I’ve worked. Not the worst that I’ve seen.” 

“What was the worst you’ve seen?” 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss it. I’m honor-bound in a friend’s confidence. But believe me when I tell you, the world is full of monsters, and you don’t even have to leave your house to find them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” April shuddered. “Especially in Ed’s case.”

“Sorry your search for archival newspaper articles on Patricia and Lisa didn’t turn up much,” Dr. Lind offered. 

“Me too. I was sure we’d find something in the old newspapers, but there wasn’t so much as a mention of either woman. It’s depressing, really.”

“What about the police reports?” 

“Schultz checked with the police while I was working on the passages in the books. We talked on the way over about what he found.”

“I’ve got his reports,” Dr. Lind nodded, tapping a folder and picking it up. “An elderly neighbor had called the police to report that she hadn’t seen Patricia going to the mailbox, or the grocery store, or taking Lisa to school. The neighbor estimated it had been about two months since she had seen Patricia. When the police came to the house to talk to Michael Trovinger, he told them that he and his wife had had an argument, and that Patricia had run away with an old high school boyfriend. She had packed a suitcase, and she had walked out. He hadn’t heard from her since. Any substantiating evidence?” 

“Michael gave the police a checking account statement which showed the purchase of a one-way ticket from Union Station to Omaha, Nebraska. He said she stole a book of checks from the desk when she left. The police got the cancelled check from the bank. The check had been signed by Patricia Trovinger. Her signature matched samples of her known writing. The police didn’t go any further than that.”

“Oh, yes. Here. I see. Michael Trovinger must have been quite convincing,” Lind muttered softly as she turned pages. 

“Apparently so,” Davies agreed. 

“What about in Lisa’s case?” she asked, closing the folder and giving April her attention. 

“Truancy officials contacted the home when Lisa didn’t show up for school for three weeks straight. She had been absent before. She was absent often. But this was the longest time she had been out without contact,” April explained. 

“Was Lisa a good student?” 

“She wasn’t a great student. She liked art. She was shy and withdrawn. Her teachers sent her to the nurse’s office a lot. She would often have visible bruises, according to statements from her friends and teachers at the time. The police came to the house to talk to Michael Trovinger about Lisa’s disappearance. He told them Lisa hadn’t come home one night after a date. He wasn’t worried, because she had taken off before. The police confirmed with colleagues that Lisa had run away several times, and her father had reported her missing every time before. When Lisa had run away in the past, she had always come back after a couple days.” 

“Suspicious that he didn’t call the police this time,” Lind commented. 

“He said he wasn’t worried. He knew she’d come back soon. The police chalked her disappearance up as another runaway teen, and left it at that. Ten days after the police visited, Michael Trovinger called the station to let them know that Lisa had called him from Omaha. She wasn’t coming back to Virginia. She was going to stay with her mother in Nebraska.” 

“That’s bloody brazen,” Dr. Lind snorted. 

“Creepy too, when you think about it,” Davies shivered. “They were together, but not in Nebraska. I can’t believe the police didn’t pick up the phone to Omaha the first time around when Patricia vanished, let alone the second time around when Lisa disappeared too.” 

“Did Michael have any corroborating evidence in Lisa’s case?” 

“I don’t think they even bothered to ask,” Davies sighed. 

“It was an entirely different world of investigation back then, I’m afraid,” Lind murmured. 

“How sad is it that so many young women disappear every year, and no one gives a damn? The police are the worst. They make up excuses not to have to search for these women. Caseload is too busy. She’s a runaway. She’s having an affair. She can leave if she wants to leave. Or they swallow the easy lies that over-bearing fathers, and jealous husbands, and possessive boyfriends feed them, because they don’t want to have to care. They don’t want to have to get involved in family matters. They don’t want to interfere in family discipline, or marital disputes. These women go missing, and no one really cares.” 

“Agent Davies, you’re being unfair. There are police and friends and loved ones who do care. They care very much. Maybe they care too much, to be honest. But there is only so much that can be done within the confines of the law. When there aren’t enough leads to build a case. Or there isn’t enough evidence to obtain a search warrant. You have to have probable cause, and if there isn’t any, the police can’t proceed,” Dr. Lind scolded carefully. 

“That could have been me,” April remarked. “My case could have turned out differently. If it weren’t for the fact that Ed is a good man deep down, I could have ended up dead. Statistically speaking, I should be dead. I have to wonder if the police would have done a damned thing about it.”

“Dr. Reid would have cared,” Dr. Lind said.

“Yes, but he was lying there in a coma while I was gone. The average kidnap victim is dead within forty-eight hours, if they survive that long. Most don’t survive the first night. Most don’t survive the first few hours. By the time Dr. Reid woke up, twenty eight days later, there wouldn’t have been a single trace of me. Nothing left but a few cross-stitched samplers and some pretty china cups.” 

“Did Schultz mention if the police searched the Trovinger home at the time of either Patricia or Lisa’s disappearances?” Dr. Lind asked. She wasn’t sure yet how to respond to April’s bitter remarks, and wanted more time to think. 

“Schultz said the police did a walk-through more than two months after Patricia vanished. That’s more than enough time for Michael to have cleaned up any evidence visible to the naked eye. You’d think someone might have connected a newly-renovated basement with his wife’s disappearance, but no one put two and two together. Because Michael was a contractor by trade, no one thought twice about the basement." 

“What about when Lisa vanished?” 

“They didn’t even bother,” Davies reported angrily. 

“What about the marked passages in Patricia’s books?” Dr. Lind asked. “What did you find there?” 

“I went through all the books Ed sent to me, and typed out the underlined or marked passages. It’s Patricia’s diary, more or less. She details as much as possible the way Michael treated her, the way he treated Lisa, how he felt about Ed when he was born. The escalating violence. The growing possessiveness. She lived in fear for her life, every moment of every day. Dr. Reid needs to read these. If Patricia is the one who marked these passages, and if Ed read these passages, then it’s had a major impact on his actions and his state of mind.”

“It’s her voice from beyond the grave,” Dr. Lind whispered. 

“Not only that, it should be more than enough evidence to prove motive.” 

“That’s why he sent those marked passages to Dr. Ramirez,” Lind understood, nodding to herself. 

“He was imitating what his mother had done,” Davies agreed. “He reached out to others the way she had reached out to him. Can we wait for Dr. Reid? You don’t mind, do you?” 

“I don’t mind,” Dr. Lind answered somewhat sarcastically. Davies either didn’t notice the irritation or chose not to notice. 

“I like their house. It’s kinda nice. It’s homey, isn’t it? Exactly what you’d expect – very masculine,” April said as she put the pages down again and stared around. Her eyes wandered the upper landing where Goody was gazing down at them from between the spindles of the railing. He stood up and stretched, and then washed his face in a leisurely fashion. 

“Lots of books,” Dr. Lind smiled, glancing up at the second floor landing where the master bedroom door was open and the shelves of books were visible in the afternoon light. “Does it remind you of home? Both your parents are teachers. Your sister is a writer. Your house must be filled with books too.” 

“Yes, lots of books in our house. Jo’s novels are on prominent display in the library. Mom is very proud of her,” April remarked ruefully. 

“Mm. Over-achieving siblings. Aren’t they fun? I understand. My mom was that way with my older brother Rory. He was a big track star in high school. His picture was emblazoned on every wall of the house. I felt like a nobody by comparison. Nothing I ever did compared to Hot Legs. That’s what Mom called him. So embarrassing. I remember sitting in the bleachers, and hearing my mom howl ‘Hot Legs!’ every time Rory would win a race. It was horrible. I wanted to die.” 

“What does your brother do now?” April asked. Simone gave a Cheshire smile, and leaned forward to reply. 

“He’s a damned fine JAG officer, stationed overseas. Mom’s favorite, of course. Dad's too. To hear my dad talk, you’d think Rory was an only child. But I’ll tell you what. Rory is amazing at his job,” she added with a shrug. “Your sister isn’t a bad writer. I’ve read her novels. All four of them.”

“Oh. You’re read them. Hmm,” April commented, backing carefully away. 

"It must have made you very angry with her."

“Would you like more coffee? I’ll make some more coffee," April offered in a high-pitched voice full of tension.

“No thanks. None for me. If I drink any more coffee, I’ll have heart palpitations. April, wait. I’d like to talk to you,” Dr. Lind ventured carefully as April rose up, paused, and sat back down once more. 

“About what?” 

“I want to talk to you about what happened. If you’re okay with that? If you’re comfortable talking to me.” 

“I don’t want to talk about what happened with Ed,” Davies faltered. 

“No. Not Ed. I’d like to talk to you about Todd Bennett.” 

Davies shot back up out of her chair, angry and shaking. 

“With all due respect, ma’am, Todd Bennett and whatever did or did not happen is none of your business!” Davies shouted before heading into the kitchen. She slammed her cup on the counter with a loud thwack. The back door slammed open but did not close. 

Dr. Lind could not have been more disappointed. She caught sight of the back of April’s head as the young agent all but sprinted to the garage where Mr. Davies was waiting. Simone stood from the table and walked to the kitchen, pulling the back door closed. April got down on the garage floor with her father, sitting close to his side. He handed her the wrench, and patted her tenderly on the back. 

Dr. Lind picked up her phone and dialed.

“Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, ma’am?” 

“Are you finished at the post office?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where are you? I could use your help here with Davies and these damned books.” 

“Traffic,” Reid blurted. 

“Traffic? Where?” Dr. Lind wondered. “It’s a twenty minute drive.”

There was a quiet tittering in the background. “Busted,” someone whispered, presumably Captain Spaulding.

“We are in traffic on the Whitehurst Freeway,” Reid admitted quietly. 

“What are you doing on the Whitehurst Freeway?” 

“We’re heading into Georgetown,” Reid almost whispered. 

“Why are you headed into Georgetown?” Dr. Lind asked, wondering when she had lost control of this situation. 

“I need to go to the bookstore,” Reid said. Dr. Lind could almost picture the way Reid was selecting his words, carefully telling her the truth, but not all of the truth at once. 

“Young man, this is no time to go shopping for books!”

“It’s related to the case, ma’am. I swear it is.” 

“Then you make quick work of getting whatever you need, and you come back here. I need your help with Davies."

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Dr. Lind hung up the phone and shook her head in a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. Why the hell would Reid need to go to the bookstore? What did he need with more books? Simone peered into the fridge, but closed the door without removing anything. She was hungry, but she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Cooking for one was too depressing to contemplate. 

Dr. Lind returned to the dining room, where her eyes centered on the pages that Agent Davies had abandoned on the table when she had fled the house. Goody had come down the stairs and climbed up onto the table. With a cat’s unerring instinct for knowing where to be the biggest obstacle, Goody had elected to lounge on top of April’s reports. Rays of evening sunlight were coming through the windows at exactly the correct angle to light that particular spot, but Dr. Lind refused to believe it was a complete coincidence, especially the way Goody was sprawled out in order to mask as much of the top page as he could cover. He was practically taunting her.

Dr. Lind sat down and stared meaningfully at Goody, debating with herself. The imperious cat stared back at her. King of the Castle while no one else was home. Dr. Lind looked away as she considered that there were the two universal truths in the world – never start a land war in Asia, and never get into a staring contest with a cat. Dr. Lind lifted one available corner of the top page, and gave a gentle tug. Goody whipped his tail once, twice, and then batted her hand with a blunt paw. 

“I guess you want me to wait for Dr. Reid too?” she asked. 

Goody batted at her again. This time he growled too. 

“Move your butt, puddy tat. I don’t have time to waste,” Dr. Lind muttered, scooping Goody up and taking the pages out from under him. She set him down on the floor and began to read.


	18. Fugitive Apprehension

18 - Fugitive Apprehension

 

“Agent Hotchner.”

“Agent Washington. Good to see you again.” 

“Wish I could say the same,” Washington joked cautiously. 

The two agents met in the middle of one of the outer parking lots at Quantico. Hotch shook Agent Washington’s hand, nodding politely to the muscular man. Aaron felt old and out-of-shape as he eyed Washington’s handsome physique, which was further accentuated by the dark camo fatigue pants and the tight black tee-shirt the other agent was wearing in lieu of his usual suit. Hotch hoped his warm handshake and grim, thin smile were projecting a more cooperative spirit this time around, unlike the last time when they had worked together. 

Hotch regretted the way he had ridden this units’ asses night and day for months. It was more about being angry with himself than he was with them, but he had taken his annoyance out on this team harder than anyone else. The team members who recognized him didn’t bother to hide their displeasure at seeing him. If Washington was harboring any enmity for Hotch, at least he was enough of a professional that he didn’t show it. His jovial shot at Hotch was nothing more than an attempt at easing tensions. The second they shook hands, Washington was all business again, moving Hotch towards the three waiting vehicles – two SUVs and one surveillance van. 

“AD Lind called me. We’re coordinating on the Trovinger hunt again?” Washington confirmed. 

“I am at your service,” Hotch replied. 

“Oh, so I’m in charge this time? That’ll be a nice switch. At least you’ll be useful, being ex-SWAT and all that. It sounded like Lind didn’t give you much choice in the matter though.”

“No, she didn’t,” Hotch confirmed.

“What have you done to so displease the new queen?” Washington asked with a curious twitch of a smile. 

“I have no idea,” Hotch muttered. 

Washington’s team had already separated into the three vehicles and was ready to go, waiting only on the command from their chief. Their team leader was the oldest among them. Washington had a wolf pack of young agents in their twenties and thirties, dressed in street gear, bristling with muscles, and armed to the teeth with weaponry. There were a few familiar faces, and a couple new kids. Hotch was feeling older by the second. The newbies were easily half his age. 

“How long has Dr. Reid been back in the saddle? A couple days?” Washington asked, glancing at Hotch’s wedding ring. 

“Yeah, second day back. Where are we headed?” Aaron asked. 

“There’s been a possible sighting in DC near the Verizon Center. There’s a hockey game starting tonight at five, big crowds roaming around down there, lots of yahoos with backpacks on. It’s a long shot as far as I’m concerned. But we’re headed there to check it out. The last thing we want is for Trovinger to walk into the middle of 18,000 plus hockey fans, and blow them to bits on our watch,” Washington told Hotch before shouting to his team. “Scurvy, I want you and Jolly Roger in position first. You get as close as you can without alarming the target or the locals.”

“Yes, sir,” two of the agents responded. They were in their van and peeling away. 

“Marcus, I want you, Valdez, and Chief up on the adjoining rooftops. Get in position and wait for my word.”

“Wash, are we taking him in, or are we taking him out?” one of the three asked. He was one of the new ones that Hotch hadn’t met before. He had olive skin, brown hair, and deep brown eyes. He was holding a standard issue assault rifle at his side as casually as a briefcase. Just another day at the office for this hot shot. A glance down at his chest showed the tops of the letters of his name just under his protective vest. It was Valdez. It was hard for Aaron not to picture himself as he had been at that age. Had he ever been that eager, that arrogant, that sure of himself? 

“Valdez, that depends first on if this is our guy. If we can take him in, that’s our objective. If we can’t take him in, we’ll weigh our options,” Washington replied as he pulled Hotch towards the last SUV. Valdez climbed into the first SUV, and it took off before Washington and Hotch were buckled into their seats in the last vehicle.

“Keep it on the asphalt,” Washington chided the agent in the driver’s seat of their SUV. The blonde woman took off like a shot, her eyes on Hotch in the rearview mirror. Hotch replied a tentative smile.

“I guess you owe me $20 bucks, huh, Wash?” she grinned. Without a word, Agent Washington dug into his chest pocket, pulled out his wallet, and gave the driver the bill in question. She pocketed the twenty without missing a beat. “Told you,” she whispered gleefully. Her braided hair bounced up and down as she took a curb heading out of the parking lot. 

“Watch where you’re going.”

“Yes, sir! Keep it on the asphalt!” 

“That’s right. Keep on the asphalt. And don’t spend all my money in one place,” Washington grumbled. 

“I’m headed to Atlantic City when we wrap this one,” she replied. 

“You got a lot of nerve, wasting my hard-earned cash in a casino,” Washington laughed. “I got another $20 that says you better change your plans.” 

“Don’t be like that,” the younger agent complained. “Don’t put a jinx on my plans, Daddy-O.”

“I’m telling you, this one smells like a standoff to me,” Washington added. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. “Possible injuries, maybe even some collateral damage. We’re going to be filling out paperwork till Tuesday by the time this all plays out.” 

“No can do. This one needs to be a quickie. I got plans. Me, and my favorite black dress, and all the cards I can play. You’re jinxing me, Wash. I can feel it. Don’t jinx me.” 

“You want to put my money where your mouth is?” Washington challenged. Did the team leader always make these kinds of bets with his subordinates, or was there something special about the driver?

“Hell yeah,” the blonde grinned, giving Washington the twenty he had just given her. 

“Double back if you’re right, Scarlatti,” the team leader promised before leaning against his seat and giving Hotch a slightly amused smile. “So, Agent Hotchner, where were we? Two days back. Is your resident genius hitting on all thrusters yet?” 

“He’s getting there,” Hotch nodded. “Have you met Dr. Reid?” Aaron asked Washington and Scarlatti exchanged a quick grin. 

“Yeah,” Washington nodded as he rubbed the scar that cut across his handsome chin. “We did lunch. Strauss, and her smirking face, and her false accusations. I’m glad they finally canned that back-stabbing snake.”

The driver may or may not have been whispering a vulgar, four-letter insult under her breath. Hotch chose to disregard whatever she was saying, not that he didn’t agree with her one hundred percent.

“You were there? Why you?” Hotch wondered. 

“There was an outside chance that Dr. Reid might react badly. I was there in case of that outside chance. It was me, and Strauss, and Byrne,” Washington replied. 

“Byrne? Internal Affairs?” Hotch gulped. 

“Yeah. They thought they were going to walk in there, give Dr. Reid his five options, and that would be the end of it. He might get emotional. He might get angry. But he wasn’t going to put up much of a fuss. They couldn’t have been more wrong. Reid ripped Agent Byrne a new butthole, and then beat Strauss down like she was a birthday party piñata.”

Hotch suddenly couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Scary thing to behold, watching him tear them up,” Washington added. “I was sitting there afraid he was coming after me next. But I kept my mouth shut, and he calmed down.” 

“The look on Strauss’s face when she came out of that restaurant,” the driver was chuckling. Hotch knew then that Washington’s team had been on standby in case he needed them. “She was calling Reid everything but a Christian. Wash, does she has any idea you were wearing a wire?” 

“Agent Scarlatti, that’s enough,” Washington chided her. 

“Yes, sir,” she whispered, hunching down slightly and concentrating on her driving. Hotch was blinking in surprise at Agent Washington, for once stunned into silence. 

“Agent Hotchner, do you think Dr. Reid is ready for this job again?” Washington asked, clearing his throat. 

“I do,” Hotch nodded. 

“Would you be saying that if you weren’t married to him?” 

“Yes,” Hotch whispered acidly. “You don’t think he’s ready?” 

“Mentally, he was ready in January. Physically, he needs some time. If it was me, I’d’ve been driving him around to crime scenes in a golf cart if I had to. Why weren’t you there with him, when he met with Strauss and Byrne? He could have used the support.”

“I wasn’t asked to be there,” Hotch defended. 

“You should have been there anyway. You’re his team leader. You’re his chief. You’re his partner. Your job is to have his back. Any of my team had been in a situation like that, I would been there.”

“That wasn’t an option,” Hotch defended. 

“You let Reid walk into that meeting alone, knowing Strauss was planning to take him down.”

“That was a dick move, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Scarlatti interjected. 

“I wasn’t asked to be there,” Hotch repeated softly, although they were only voicing the doubts he had had all along. He didn’t know what else to say. 

Hotch was surprised that Agent Washington was sticking up for Reid so adamantly. Washington was the last person Aaron would have expected to support Reid, or frankly even like him. Spencer was not well regarded among his peers, especially those who relied on their muscle and might more than their profiling and negotiation skills. Why would Washington have been in Reid’s corner? 

“What?” Washington questioned. “You and those beady profiler eyes?” 

“Agent Scarlatti mentioned a wire. Was that Strauss’s idea?” Hotch questioned. 

“No,” Washington murmured. “Strauss had no idea I was taping the conversation.”

“Did I say ‘wire’?” Scarlatti piped up. “Sir, I’m sure you misunderstood me. I never mentioned a wire."

Washington gave Scarlatti a cross look, and she quieted down. 

“Do you have transcripts?” Hotch asked.

“Why would you need transcripts? Don’t you already know what happened?” Washington asked.

“Only hearsay and speculation,” Hotch sighed. 

“You don’t read the papers? Watch the local news?” Washington smiled. 

“The articles were informative, but there were certain missing details that I’d like to have.” 

“Details like what?” 

“Like which one of my team members told Strauss Reid wasn’t up to the job?"

"Oh," Washington whispered.

"Did one of my agents promise to help Strauss bring down Reid, and in return, did Strauss promise to do that agent a favor?”

“I see. You want to know which one of your team you can’t trust. Is that it? You want a name, and you think I have that name. Maybe I have a name, and maybe I don’t, but the question is, why should I help you?”

“Why wouldn’t you help me?” 

“Hmm. Any number of reasons. Did Dr. Reid not tell you what went down with Strauss and Byrne? Did you even bother to ask?” Washington wondered. 

“Reid said that Strauss accused him of using sex to get his job in the BAU, with Jason Gideon and me both. Separately. Not together. That’s not the point. I couldn’t believe Strauss would have made such ridiculous accusations, let alone in public in front of witnesses,” Hotch confessed quietly. 

“That’s what she said, all right. In no uncertain terms. In public. In front of witnesses. Reid told you, and you didn’t believe him?”

“It’s ridiculous. No one would ever believe that a man with a brain like Reid’s, a man with his job experience and demonstrated expertise, would need to use sex to get ahead. I couldn’t believe that anyone would ever believe Strauss.” 

“I think you missed the point, Agent Hotchner. Accusations like that don’t have to be true in order to have a detrimental impact on an agent and his or her career in the Bureau. Whether they are sexual or racial or gender-biased accusations, all it takes is one agent to whisper that you didn’t earn the position you have, and from then on out, everyone questions if you deserve to be where you are.” 

“I take it someone said that about you once?” 

“Sexual favors, no. But it’s been suggested more than once that the only reason I got to be on this squad, or in charge of missions, or leading this team, is because of the color of my skin. It doesn’t matter than I worked my ass off to be where I am, that I sacrificed my marriage and my family to this job. I've spent twenty years having to be twice as good at everything I do, knowing full well that any one of the agents that surrounds me could be smiling to my face while stabbing me in the back. Let’s just say I felt sympathy for Dr. Reid’s position.”

“I understand,” Hotch sighed. 

“No, sir, with all due respect, no, you don’t. Strauss said what she said to Reid because she wanted to hurt him, and she wanted to get a rise out of him. She wanted to make him seem emotionally fragile, in front of me, and in front of Byrne. She was not expecting Reid to fire back at her. She certainly didn’t expect him to out her extra-marital affair, that’s for sure. Don’t you worry though. When push comes to shove, Reid can handle himself pretty well from what I’ve seen,” Washington said.

“Why did Strauss want Internal Affairs there?” Hotch wondered. 

“It was a calculated risk. If Reid had confirmed that he had been using sex to get and keep his job, Strauss wanted Byrne to have enough proof to fire Reid, and to take you down too. Maybe she even thought she might turn Reid and use him against you. Use extortion to turn you against one another. She never did like you, man, but I’m sure you’re well aware of that. Guess you don’t have to worry about that now though. Neither will any of the rest of us. Good riddance. I’m glad Strauss is gone. Head Bitch sure got her shots in, didn’t she? She planted those seeds of doubt in Reid’s mind, that he couldn’t do his job, that his own team didn’t have his back. She planted seeds of doubt in the rest of the team too. But then Reid had the nerve to go and solve the Gorsuch case. Get some positive press for the Bureau for a change. Reel in a serial killer almost single-handedly.”

“It was a team effort,” Hotch smiled. 

“You keep telling yourself that, bucko,” Washington laughed. “Reid proved Strauss wrong on every count, left her looking petty and vindictive, not to mention totally inaccurate about his ability to do his job. She’s damned lucky the Bureau let her take early retirement. But now you need to get a good grip on him, and hold tight,” Washington advised. 

“Why do you say that?” Hotch questioned. 

Washington shrugged one shoulder and lowered his voice. 

“Nobody used to know who he was. Some geek-nerd genius with a funny taste in ties. He used to be under the radar, but now, the bosses have noticed him. They’re looking into him. Maybe they like what they see. That’s not always a good thing. I heard some talk around the Quad.”

“What do you mean ‘talk’?” Hotch shivered. 

Washington shrugged and shook his head, indicating either that he couldn’t say or he shouldn’t say. Hotch glanced at Scarlatti, who shrugged her shoulders too. 

“Wash, you know me. Hear no, see no, speak no evil, sir,” Scarlatti defended. 

“Maybe we should concentrate on our fugitive here. Bring me up to speed, Hotchner. Franzetti said Trovinger broke into your house the other day and left a shitload of books in your living room. Was he pulling my leg, or was he serious?” Washington asked as they raced along the highway headed north into DC. 

“Franzetti was serious,” Hotch confirmed. 

“That’s kinda random, isn’t it?” Washington wondered. 

“Ed likes books,” Hotch shrugged. 

“Look on the bright side. At least it was books and not bombs. Did he also leave a message for Reid at the scene?” 

“Yes,” Hotch answered. 

“Go to hell? Come to Papa? Be my valentine? What did he say?” 

“It’s being analyzed,” Hotch shrugged. 

“Mm hmm. That’s profiler-speak for ‘I have no idea how to interpret his madness, and I don’t want to guess’,” Washington surmised. 

“He mentioned guardian angels, and how it was all God’s plan,” Hotch replied grimly. Washington laughed quietly, shaking his head. Scarlatti started blaring on the horn as she went between two cars, muttering in a foreign tongue and giving the offending driver the finger as she went around him. 

“Agent, hands on the wheel, eyes on the road,” Washington called out. 

“Yes, sir,” she called back. Washington turned his attention to Hotch once more. 

“If Trovinger was spotted in the parking lot at Agent Davies’ new apartment, do you think that means he plans to kidnap her again? He seems to have kind of a thing for her.” 

“No, I don’t believe she is his target. But Dr. Lind put a tail on Davies to keep her safe,” Hotch replied. 

“You believe he’s targeting Dr. Reid, not Agent Davies.”

“I’m afraid so, yes.” 

“In that case, I’m surprised you don’t have Reid handcuffed to the bed at home,” Washington gave a slight smile. He blanched and then waved a hand back and forth. “No offense. I didn’t mean anything politically incorrect by that,” he added. 

“No offense taken,” Hotch promised. “It's not that the thought didn’t cross my mind.” 

“This sighting near Verizon isn’t going to pan out,” Washington sighed. “It’s probably some big guy in camo walking around. We’ve got eyes all over the Capitol, the Virginia ‘burbs, and the Maryland ‘burbs too. Trovinger has eluded us for this long by being smart and laying low. He’s not going to walk around DC and go see a hockey game. We’re going to find him eventually though. The odds are going to turn in our favor one of these days. Franzetti and his goons are spread out all over the map. Homeland Security lent us some guys too, in case Trovinger turns his attention to larger, more political targets. Though politics doesn’t seem to crank him up. You’d think with a task force of hundred guys from three different agencies, we’d have Trovinger bagged and hog-tied by this point. He’s starting to make us look like idiots. I don’t like looking like an idiot.” 

“Trovinger has had special training.” 

“We’ve all had special training. You know what my question is though? If Dr. Lind thinks Trovinger is following Reid, and you think Trovinger is following Reid, why are you and I not following Reid? Logic dictates following Reid should lead us indirectly to Trovinger. Am I right? Where’s your boy at? I want to get so far up his ass, he can’t hiccup without my permission.” 

“Once he was done at the post office, Reid was supposed to go home,” Hotch laughed. 

“Why did he need to go to the post office? Isn’t he supposed to be laying low?” Washington questioned. His tactical radio came to life, squawking loudly on his shoulder. 

“Daddy-O, we’re in position!” 

Washington reached up and clicked his radio.

“Copy that, Scurvy. We’re a few minutes behind you. What do you have?” 

“The witnesses said they spotted our guy at the bakery down the hill from the Verizon Center?”

“Red Velvet?” Washington questioned. 

“That’s it, sir.” 

“Home of the gold-plated cupcake!”

“Sir?” 

“Thirty six dollars a dozen, son. My baby wanted those for her birthday. Fifty kids, fifty parents, a hundred cupcakes." 

“Did you get them for her?” Scarlatti asked. 

“Scarlatti, I paid more for the goddamn cupcakes than I paid for the pony rides,” Washington complained. 

“She’s only going to be five once, sir,” Scarlatti replied with a laugh. 

“Yeah,” Washington smiled, tapping his chest as if he had heartburn. “Next thing you know, she’ll be buying a prom dress, and planning on college. Columbia? Howard? Oh my god. What if she wants to go to Spelman?”

“Plan ahead, sir,” Scarlatti replied. 

“Sir, what do we do?” Scurvy asked. 

“Sorry, Scott. Tell me what you have there.” 

“Wash, I ain’t got jack. Trovinger isn’t here.” 

“What do you have?” 

“I got a lady in a cream-colored coat buying three dozen cupcakes. That’s all I got.”

“What about next door?” 

“At the Iron Horse? Nothing, sir.” 

“Can you see inside from where you are?” 

“Not inside, sir. No. But he’s not standing outside, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Marcus? Are you and your team in position?” 

“We’re a block away, Wash,” came the reply.

“Tell Chief to disarm, throw on a jacket, and take a walk through the Iron Horse bar there on 7th. You and Valdez? I want you to take Pitango, and Valdez takes whatever is next door to that.”

“Carmines?” 

“Good meatballs, sir,” Scarlatti interjected. 

“Marcus, do a walk-through of every business on the street, but be casual and quiet. If you spot Trovinger, you keep walking. You can put a tail on him, but you do not approach him. Do you hear me? Do you understand me?”

“If we spot him, we tail him, but do not approach him. Yes, sir. Understood. We’re on it, Wash.” 

“Scarlatti, I want you to take us in from above the Phonebooth. Nice and slow. Park us going downhill. Put us in position to see what’s coming and going both ways on 7th.” 

“Yes, sir,” she responded eagerly.


	19. Tactical Response

19 - Tactical Response

 

“I need a report,” Agent Washington growled into his shoulder radio as he stood in front of the exit to the Gallery Place Metro stop. The station itself was underneath the Verizon Center. Hotch was standing next to him, listening to Washington with one ear, and listening to the crowd with the other. 

“Nothing, Wash.”

“Nothing to report, sir.” 

“Nothing on this end.”

“That’s a negative, sir.”

As each member of his team checked in, Washington’s face grew more concerned and annoyed. Hotch was watching hockey jerseys lining up in front of the arena, each fan waiting their turn to enter the building. Washington had run an eyeball across the situation at the entrances to the arena already, and he had been very pleased with what he saw. Owing to heightened security throughout the city, there were multiple guards at every entrance, checking every bag, checking every jacket. Every fan who entered the building had to walk through a metal detector, and then they had to wait in line to get wanded by the security staff, and that was before they even got to the ticket booths and ticket readers. There was no way that Ed Trovinger was going to carry a backpack full of explosives into the arena. The guards were frisking people carrying bags of cheerios for their toddlers. They were not going to miss something big like a dangerous fugitive with a timer switch in his shorts and a backpack full of Semtek. 

Not only was security inside the building impressive, security outside the building was in great shape as well. There were rows of motorcycle cops, strutting around in knee-high boots, their pieces thumping their hips as they patrolled. There were metropolitan police cars parked across the major streets, allowing pedestrian traffic to pass, but not allowing any vehicles to approach the arena during the game. To the trained eye, there were other groups of federal officers and agents to be spotted as well, an awful lot of muscular young men in dark suits milling about on their iPhones, eyes on the hockey fans, or the shoppers, or those dining out in the restaurants that surrounded the area. In short, if Ed Trovinger had tried to pick a spot in the city where he was very likely to be spotted, tagged, bagged, and arrested, this might be the best place he could have gone on a busy night like this, in a city already bristling with security. Being as Trovinger was trying to avoid getting arrested, he wasn’t going to be anywhere near here. 

Washington and his team were observing everyone coming and going from all directions on 6th and 7th both. They had been here for at least two hours, watching as the light was slowly faded, and the day was turning into a cold, dark evening. Somehow, not spotting Trovinger here was actually worse for Hotch than finding him would have been. Aaron knew that if they didn’t see Trovinger here, if the sighting turned out to be a false alarm, it meant that Trovinger was out there somewhere else, and they didn’t have a single clue where to start searching for him. The longer Hotch stayed here, the longer he was away from Reid. Aaron was missing Reid terribly, but was secure in the knowledge that Spencer was home, safe and sound. Hotch imagined Spencer sitting in the dining room, going over Trovinger’s books, or maybe sitting in front of the TV, watching the game going on inside the arena. He imagined himself by Spencer’s side on the sofa, snuggled together under a big blanket, arms around each other. 

“I don’t like this,” Agent Washington admitted to Hotch, putting a hand over his radio in order to talk to Aaron privately and not broadcast his doubts to his entire team. 

“Me either,” Hotch admitted in return. 

“I knew it was a long shot, but part of me was hoping. Scarlatti is right. Maybe I jinxed it,” Washington grumbled.

“Something tangible would have been nice,” Hotch agreed. “Showing his picture around didn’t do any good?” 

“The lady behind the counter at the bakery said she saw someone who kinda looked like him, maybe, but earlier in the day. He wasn’t carrying a backpack. He was carrying a diaper bag, and a baby. One of the valets at Carmines said he saw a guy like him too, same thing. The guy had a wife with him. A diaper bag. A baby. They were tourists from Cincinnati. Chief tracked them back to a hotel over on 5th.”

“When do we call this a done thing, and stop chasing our own asses?” Hotch asked. 

“Right about now,” Washington agreed. 

“Agent Washington, you out there?” 

It was a different voice coming over the link. Washington clicked his shoulder radio.

“I’m here, Franzetti. What do you have for me?” 

“I haven’t got shit here, that’s for sure. I’m at the fire station on 6th and F, directly around the arena from you.”

“Nothing your side either?” Washington questioned. 

“All we’re chasing is each other, Wash. I say we leave a couple Homeland guys on patrol, and regroup to collect our thoughts.” 

“Affirmative,” Agent Washington nodded. “You want us to meet up with you there?” 

“Yeah. Come on over. They have great coffee.” 

Hotch’s stomach churned at the thought of coffee. He had to hurry to keep up with Agent Washington. The younger man gave a discrete wave to the nearest metropolitan patrol officer, and headed off in at a brisk pace to journey around the large arena. Plastic banners emblazoned with the enlarged faces of sports heroes performing heroic basketball jump shots or amazing hockey slapshots were whipping and smacking every side of the building. Well, every side except the ones where gigantic television monitors were broadcasting upcoming concerts, or highlights of the game going on inside. 

A few stray fans continued to mill about outside the arena, probably looking to pick up tickets cheap from the scalpers that were calling out ‘Looking to sell tickets? Anybody looking to sell tickets?’ There were a few homeless people pan-handling on the opposite corners – well away from the police and security, but close enough to milk a few coins and a couple bucks off the well-to-do softies who were on their way to the game. 

As Hotch approached the opposite corner, the sound of rhythmic thumping became audible. There was a young man banging on overturned plastic containers, working the bucket drum kit for all it was worth. He had talent too. People were lining up to drop change into a bucket at his feet. Hotch came around in time to see Washington drop a bill or two in, nod hello to the kid, and continue on. Aaron could see the fire station diagonally across the intersection at the next corner. Hotch dropped some change in the bucket for the drummer as well, and hurried behind Washington, the echoes of the beats ringing in his ears. 

Up ahead in the distance, Washington was talking into his radio, which had suddenly come to life again. He jogged across the intersection on red regardless of traffic. Hotch waited at the light for the signal to change. Washington came to a screeching halt, and almost tripped getting his foot up on the opposite curb. He whirled around to search for Hotch. There was a shocked expression on his face. 

Washington was suddenly running through traffic towards Hotch. An SUV blared a horn at him. Washington flashed his badge and a discrete middle finger at the annoyed driver, all while putting up his other hand and motioning to Hotch to hurry his ass up. Aaron sprinted to join Washington in the middle of the road. He struggled to hear what was going on above the sound of blaring horns and revving motors. 

“WHAT’S WRONG?” Hotch shouted as they raced up the sidewalk towards Franzetti, who was in front of the fire station, talking anxiously into his own radio. 

GEORGETOWN!" Franzetti howled.

“GEORGETOWN!” Washington shouted back. He whistled at his team, and they gathered around, bouncing on the balls of their feet, anxiously awaiting his command. 

“What is it, Wash?!” Scarlatti exclaimed. 

“Saddle up, everybody! We’re headed to Georgetown. Wisconsin. Northwest. There’s been a confirmed sighting of Trovinger. He walked into a bookstore. He’s waving a gun around. He’s holding the store owner hostage inside,” Washington explained to his team as Franzetti translated a garbled message into his own shoulder radio, presumably to his own team.

“Bookstore? Georgetown?” Hotch froze as icicles traced his spine. “Where exactly in Georgetown?”

“Your little bunkie? I'm gonna kick his ass," Washington muttered. 

"What?" Hotch bristled. 

"Lind said Reid is in Georgetown, shopping for books. Coincidence? I think not!” Washington growled to Hotch. “Shit, you look pale. You okay?”

There suddenly wasn’t enough air for Hotch to reply, or to pull into his lungs and even breathe. The bookstore. Bubbles’ bookstore. That was in Georgetown. Hadn’t Reid said that bookstores were hallowed ground to Trovinger? Reid had speculated that bookstores would be like churches, and churches were sanctuaries, and Reid had gone and done what Lind had all but commanded him to do. He had drawn Trovinger out of hiding with the promise of sanctuary, in a bookstore. A horrible cold fear kicked him in the stomach. All Hotch could think about was Reid sitting in that chair upstairs in the attic at Bubbles' bookstore, the wingback chair, the antique. All Hotch could see in his mind’s eye was Reid in that chair, and his amber eyes, and his slender smile, the way he had tasted when Hotch had nosed his cheek, the way his cold, gaunt hands had felt curled into Hotch’s own hands. Hotch was suddenly furious, at Reid and at Lind, and he was quaking inside his chest with fear and fury. 

“Sir? Sir?!” 

Scarlatti took Hotch’s arm and shoved him up into the van before climbing into the driver’s seat. Washington gave Hotch’s legs a shove before slamming the door closed. 

“Georgetown, Northwest, Wisconsin,” Franzetti confirmed. Washington waved back to the ATF agent before springing into action.


	20. Hallowed Ground

20 - Hallowed Ground

 

“Are you okay? Don’t be alarmed. Do you want me to call someone for you?” 

Barbara McFergus managed to suppress her smile, but only barely. The man before her was nervously moving his gun from one hand to the other, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. But there he was, asking her again if she was okay? 

“I assumed the place would be empty,” he babbled. “Hope I didn’t give anyone a heart attack. Do you need to sit down?” 

“Young man, yours is not the first gun I’ve seen, nor the first I’ve had waved in my face,” Bubbles murmured. “Maybe you should holster that before it goes off by accident. You don’t even have the safety on.” 

“Do you want me to call someone for you?” he asked again. 

“I called my daughter before you arrived. She’ll be waiting for me outside.”

“Where is he!?” the gunman bellowed.

“Don’t worry. Spencer is on his way.” 

“He should be here by now. Did he set me up? I’ll make him pay for this!” 

“Dr. Reid did not set you up. He is on his way,” Barbara promised. 

“How do you know?” 

“I’ve known Spencer Reid since he was boy, long before he was doctor, or an FBI agent either one. I know he’s not going to let you down. If he promised to be here, he will be here. You should put the gun away. You aren’t going to need it with me. You don’t want the police or tactical unit seeing you waving that thing around. They will take a shot at you if they can get a clean one through the windows up here in the front of the store. We need to go to the back, and we need to stay down.” 

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you,” he said again, putting the weapon into the holster under his jacket. “I only showed it because I had to make the customers leave. I wanted them to know I was serious.”

“Like I said, it’s not the first gun I’ve seen. You pull yourself together. Stay calm. Do you want some tea?” 

“Tea?” he asked in surprise. 

“I’ve got stronger than that, but you shouldn’t cloud your mind with alcohol.”

“Yes, ma’am. Tea would be nice. But how do I know you aren’t going to unlock the back door and let the police in that way?”

“You can come with me and make sure. You should come with me anyway. It’ll be safer for you at the rear of the store, where the living quarters are. Stay away from the windows. Walk right next to me. That’s it. Better yet, let me walk behind you. That way I’m in their shot. You understand me?”

Barbara put her hand on the young man’s arm, her touch tentative and gentle. 

“You be calm, and we’ll both get out of this alive. What’s your name, son?” 

“Ed. Call me Ed.” 

“Hello, Ed. I’m Barbara. My friends call me Bubbles. I hope we can be friends.” 

“Bubbles?” Ed released a scared laugh and smile. 

“My late husband Charles gave me that nickname on our first date. He said I had a smile that made him giddy, just like drinking champagne. He called me Bubbles from then on. What kind of tea do you like, Ed?”

“I….” Ed mumbled. 

“There’s chamomile, and cinnamon, and oolong, and green. I’ve got some orange and spice. Regular old Lipton too. I’ve….now, don’t be jumpy. You did hear something upstairs. I heard it too. That’s either Maya, or Malcolm, or Roho.”

“Who are they?” Ed asked as he scanned the ceiling and raised his gun, pointing skyward. 

“My cats,” Barbara replied. “Kitchen is right there. Give the door a little push.”

“I like cats,” Ed said. His hand was shaking as he checked behind the door of the small room.

“You’ve got to promise me you’re not going to hurt anyone, especially my cats.” 

“I promise, ma’am.” 

“The kettle is on the stove. I’m going to go over to the sink, and stand at the window long enough to fill the kettle,” Bubbles explained. She lifted a lever, and the silver swan neck came to life with cold water. 

The kitchen door creaked behind them. The young man whirled around, gun back in his grip. He deflated, lowering the weapon. Barbara turned from the sink and handed him the kettle. 

“Ed, that’s Malcolm. You put this on the stove. I’m going to let Malcolm outside. Stay down away from the windows.” 

The young man nodded to her vigorously. Barbara stepped out of the kitchen and into the hallway. She went to the back door, pushed the curtain aside, and gently unhitched the lock. As she twisted the knob, Malcolm’s short, stumpy tail banged against her leg. 

“You go on out for a few minutes,” Bubbles murmured, reaching down to stroke the cat’s ginger fur. She closed the door behind him, and watched him disappear into the nighttime shadows which dominated her small courtyard. There was enough room for a cherry tree, a willow, and a few large planters. When she turned around, the young man was next to her, gun pointed at her side. She pulled the curtains over the window again.

“Are we good? How’s the water?” 

“Not ready yet. Why didn’t you leave? You could have left. You should have left.”

“Ed? Have you ever been in a stand-off before?” 

“Not in a civilian zone.”

“Lucky for you, I have.” 

“Ma’am?” Ed’s brows rose visibly at this admission. 

“In a stand-off, we both have jobs to do. You’re the one with the gun. Your job is to be the target. As your hostage, my job is to be your shield. I am here to keep you safe.”

“What were you doing in a stand-off?” Ed gasped. 

“That was years ago, Ed. It was a different world then. Maybe not as different as we tell ourselves though.”

“You should have left.” 

“I can’t leave yet, Ed, not until Spencer arrives.” 

“You were….you… stand-off?” Ed gulped loudly. 

“We’ll talk about it over tea,” Bubbles smiled slowly. Another shadow danced down the back steps and past their feet. Patches of white and calico were visible in the dim light. Ed flinched back. The cat stayed behind Barbara, giving Ed very tentative glances with her one good eye. 

“That’s Maya. She should go out too,” Barbara insisted. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Relax, Ed. It’s going to be okay.” 

The relief that flooded Ed’s face left Barbara feeling more than a little sorry for him – he was another stray who needed a friend. That was more than likely why Reid had called her and asked her to do this. He knew she would never refuse someone who was in dire straits. With a turn of the knob, Maya was outside in the night as well. As Bubbles was closing the rear door, watching Maya slink to the far end of the courtyard and hide behind the planters, she spotted a silhouette in the courtyard, a man with red hair, dressed in dark clothes, hiding in the shadows. She had the unnerving feeling that she had seen him before, but it was hard to tell from this distance who he was. As he moved backwards against the bricks, nestled against the wall behind her willow tree, Barbara quickly closed the door. 

“Ed, there’s at least one tactical officer already back there. We need to get into the interior of the house. One of the rooms without windows.”

“But we can’t see them if we go too far inside,” Ed protested. 

“They can’t see us either,” Barbara insisted. “Down the hallway. Pull gently on the third bookcase in young adult literature. For God’s sake, keep your head down.” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

Barbara watched Ed snake down the hallway, counting bookcases as he went. He got to the correct one, and tugged too hard. He had to catch several books as the case slid forward. The case was attached to a door, which opened into a small room. 

“Oh,” he whispered in the dim light. A black cat gave him a cross look as he exited the hidden room. “Is this Roho?” he called out. 

“That would be him, Roho Amani. Go inside and wait for me. One sugar or two?” 

“What?” Ed replied.

“Never mind. I’ll bring the whole dish.” 

The bookcase slid closed. Barbara walked back into the kitchen to pull the kettle off the fire before it could whistle. She snagged cups, and spoons, and the sugar dish, and put them on a tray. She went to the kitchen window above the sink, undid the lock, and gently patted the countertop. Four paws hit the wood with a solid thump. Roho nosed her side, rubbed her shoulder. The only part of him that was visible were his serene eyes. 

“Do you have your collar on? Good. You stay out of traffic, you hear me?” Barbara whispered, nudging the black cat towards the opened sash. Roho meowed at her, and hung back. “I’ll be fine. You get your butt out there. I don’t want you anywhere around if bullets start flying. You be careful, you soft, spoiled baby.” 

The kitchen window closed barely past the wispy end of Roho’s tail as he bounced down into the courtyard and disappeared. Barbara saw the man in dark clothing move again behind the willow and against the wall. This time, he was readying his long rifle. Barbara walked into the thin hallway and stood at the back door. She frowned as she flipped both switches on the wall. The entire courtyard lit up like Christmas. Three other young men in dark clothing armed with long rifles were ratted out. Maya was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Roho. Bubbles clicked both switches off again. 

“Amateurs,” she whispered as she carried the tray towards the hidden room. 

Frantic movement ahead drew her eyes towards the front door of the bookshop. A hand was waving at her. Two hands, in fact – one dark brown and the other pale as a ghost. Barbara smiled back at the two familiar faces pressed to the window. She set the tray down at the threshold, and knocked on the bookcase. 

“Ed?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Spencer is here.” 

The door to the hidden room opened a crack. One dark eye peered out.

“About damned time!” 

“Ed, I’m going to be leaving you now, but before I go, I want you to promise me two things.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You are not going to hurt Spencer, and you’re going to listen to what he has to say. He wants to help you. Do we have a deal?”

“Mommy! Mommy, open the door! What are you doing? Jesus Christ!" ” 

Ed peered down the hallway as Barbara walked towards the front door, past the counter, past the backpacks abandoned on the floor when her customers had rushed out. Her daughter Cecelia was bouncing anxiously outside, while Reid was looking pale and worried. Bubbles unlatched the locks in slow, careful movements, her eyes scanning around for danger. There were police officers pulling civilians behind a barricade on the other side of the street. Barbara looked down at the bricks under Spencer and Cecelia’s feet when she heard someone meow. Roho Amani was waiting patiently to get back inside the bookstore. 

The second the door was open, Cecelia grabbed the knob, pushed inward, and snagged her mother’s arm. Dr. McFergus pulled her mother outside in one firm yank, hugging her tight while rocking back and forth. 

“All good?” Reid asked softly, wondering if Bubbles could hear him over Cecelia’s worried admonishing of her mother. 

“I can’t believe you! This is not the 60’s, Mommy! You are not a spring chicken, and you are never… never…. never going to worry me like this again, and, YOU, if you ever involve my mother in something like this again, I’m going to punch you right square in the mouth, do you understand me?!” Cecelia turned on Reid, flaring with anger. Reid yelped and ducked the smack Cecelia sent his way. She got in a couple good hits before Reid was inside the store. 

“Honey, be calm,” Bubbles chided. She bent down and scooped up Roho, carrying him in a firm grip. Reid closed and locked the door, and he mouthed his thanks to Bubbles. She waved back to him, unable to stop the fear that took her heart – that this might be the last time she saw her good friend. She watched Reid standing there as she allowed her frantic daughter to drag her away up the empty street. 

All the connecting roads were curiously void of the foot traffic and cars and trucks and busses which should have been zooming along. Barbara looked up to see where Cecelia was pushing, pulling, and dragging her. 

Two black SUVs were screaming down the hill from the other end of Wisconsin. They screeched up to the second set of barricades which were now visible from this angle, looking up from the valley between two hills. A tactical team in street clothes, carrying guns, spilled from the SUVs as a van that pulled up alongside. A tall and stocky, dark-haired white man popped out, wearing a business suit. He was pulling off his suit jacket and pulling on a bullet-proof vest, all the while arguing vehemently with a black man dressed in tactical gear about just who was in charge of this operation and why. 

Cecelia hurried her mother along, not in the direction of the arguing men, but in the direction of a metropolitan police car. As soon as they got close enough that she was sure they were safe, Cecelia started to choke back tears. Barbara put out an arm and steadied her daughter, patting gently on her back. Roho was perched against Barbara’s heart, staring over her shoulder towards the bookstore. No doubt, he was curious why they had not gone back inside.

“It’s all right, honey. Everything is going to be all right. Spencer has this under control,” Bubbles insisted as she stroked Roho. 

“Mommy! You could have been killed!” Cecelia shouted, setting her mother abruptly down in the back of the police car. 

“Are you hurt, Mrs. McFergus?” the female officer asked Barbara as she turned around in the seat. Bubbles was startled by how very young the officer was. 

“No, Miss. I’m fine. Thank you.” 

“Is your cat okay?” 

“He’s fine. Doesn’t like being outside, that’s all. Traffic makes him nervous.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to let me go get my other cats?” 

“Ma’am, I’m under order not to let you out of the car.”

“I see. Cecelia, come around and sit with me,” Bubbles added softly. 

“What do your other cats look like? I'll get them for you,” the officer offered, opening her own door and getting out. She leaned back into the window and waited. The two arguing men were walking past the cop car—the one in the business suit and the one in tactical clothes. Bubbles recognized Agent Hotchner, if not from his features, then from his loud, authoritarian voice. Barbara’s thoughts returned inside her bookstore, focusing on the tray she had set on the floor. She wasn’t sure who to be more concerned for when Hotch finally got inside—Ed or Spencer? She stroked Roho Amani’s fur, and listened to his quiet breathing.


	21. A Most Disquieting Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title is a shout-out to Telanu's HP story "A Most Disquieting Tea"

21 - A Most Disquieting Tea

 

Reid balanced the tray carefully as the bookcase door creaked open only slightly. He wished he hadn’t left his cane at home, and then suddenly that was the least of his concerns. Spencer found himself staring down the blunt, dark barrel of a semi-automatic Browning m1910. 

“Ed, that is no way to start a friendly conversation,” Reid began. 

The gun lowered. Instead of pointing at Reid’s face, it was now aimed at his chest, which was somewhat an improvement, Reid decided as the statistical portion of his brain happily supplied him with the odds of surviving a bullet to the chest rather than a bullet to the brain. 

“What took you so long to get here?” Trovinger demanded. 

“We had to drive from Fairfax,” Reid grumbled. 

“So did I.” 

“I also had to find a way to separate myself from my surveillance team. I didn’t think you wanted them here, and I did not wish to put them in danger.” 

“I can’t imagine that was easy,” Ed commented. His visible eye was full of suspicion.

“No. It wasn’t. But I reminded Captain Spaulding that her primary mission is surveillance not security. While we are on the topic, you will back away from Captain Spaulding, this instant. Understood? No more following her around.”

“But she’s so very interesting, Dr. Reid.” 

“If any harm comes to my Captain, or any member of her team, or any member of my BAU team, all bets are off, Ed. I will take you down without mercy. Do I make myself clear?” 

“You’re a spunky little shit, aren’t you?” Ed replied. Although Reid couldn’t see Trovinger’s face, he could tell from his voice that the other man was smiling. 

“I don’t want anyone else to wind up like Captain Magnusson did. Or like Pam Larsson. Or John Rockford and his son.” 

“I said I was sorry,” Ed murmured from behind the door. He cleared his throat and opened the case another inch or so. 

“That doesn’t make them any less dead, now does it, Ed?” 

“I suppose not,” he agreed. “You look different with hair,” he observed quietly a moment later. Much more of this, and Reid was going to drop the tray. He shifted the weight, and pushed at the door. At last, Trovinger allowed Reid into the room. 

“You’re much taller in person,” Reid remarked as he aimed for the side table between the two chairs, praying he didn’t slosh hot liquid on Bubbles’ beautiful antique area rug. He got the tray down barely in time. 

“So I got your message. Here I am,” Ed said.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Reid murmured, closing the door to the hidden room. He turned around to find Trovinger looming behind him, gun pointed at his chest again. Reid gently pushed the barrel in a different direction. “Thanks for meeting with me. I wasn’t sure you’d take the chance. Would you put that away?” 

“God said I should trust you. Don’t make me regret that trust. Tell me what you want so I can get the hell out of here. The police are already outside. It won't be long before your buddy Agent Hotchner arrives, if he hasn't already.” 

“If Hotch were here, we’d know by now,” Reid smiled faintly. 

“What do you want, Dr. Reid?” 

“I want you to give up. I want you to surrender peacefully. I want you to end this before anyone else gets hurt,” Reid pleaded. “I promise if you turn yourself in, I’ll see you get the help that you need. The team and I, we will solve the murders of your mother and your sister. We’ll make sure the world knows what kind of monster your father was, why you’re doing what you’re doing.”

Trovinger blinked quietly at Reid, his brow furrowed as he frowned.

“This isn’t about using my old man as an excuse. I’m not making excuses. But I want……I do want Mom and Lisa to be at peace, finally and forever.”

“I will do that for you. I’ll do that for them. But first you have to put down your gun and surrender. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt, and neither do you. I know you don’t.”

“You really think it’s going to be as easy as that to take me in?” Trovinger laughed abruptly.

“It can as easy as we want it to be,” Reid promised. 

“You’re serious? You thought you were going to walk in here, promise me the moon, and I was going to lay down my gun, and put my hands in the air?” Ed muttered. 

“I was hoping,” Reid ventured. Ed’s frown got darker and deeper, cutting lines into his face, and Reid knew that was a bad sign. 

“Dr. Reid, you never should have come here.”

“Why not?” 

“I’m crazy, remember? I could kill you right now, and there would be no one to stop me.”

“You’re wrong, Ed. You’re not going to kill me.”

“How can you be so sure?” Trovinger growled, pushing the gun towards Spencer once again. “You don’t know! I don’t even know!”

“April knows. She saw inside you. She knows what kind of man you are, and I trust April. I trust her instincts.”

“You’re as crazy as I am! I saw this kind of behavior in the service all the time. A guy would survive a brush with death, and he would lose his mind. He gets to thinking he’s immortal. That he’s been touched by God. That he can’t be killed. It makes a guy do crazy things. He gets this itch, this need to prove to himself that he can’t be stopped. He throws himself into it, mission and mission, every one more risky than the last. You know what happens, nine times out of ten? That guy gets himself killed, that’s what happens! Do you get what I’m saying, Dr. Reid? You shouldn’t be taking chances like this!” 

“Is that what happened with you? After Najaf?” 

“Don’t be a dickhead,” Ed punctuated his point by putting his gun against Reid’s ribs. 

“How do you take your tea?” Spencer whispered dryly, making an effort not to stare down at the weapon at his chest. 

“Iced. In a glass. In the summer. I’m not a hot tea kinda guy,” Trovinger frowned. “I said yes to the nice lady because I thought it would help keep her calm if she had something to do. But no, no thank you, I do not want any fucking tea.” 

“Do you mind if I indulge?” Reid asked. 

“Knock yourself out,” Ed sighed, lowering the gun and stepping back again. 

Reid’s satchel thumped to the ground as he turned around to the tray. 

“Dr. Reid? I’m a madman with a gun. You shouldn’t turn your back on me,” Ed said quietly. 

“Good point,” Spencer acknowledged. He sat down in the chair facing Ed, and calmed his shaking knees. “How long did you have to wait for the Fairfax police to leave the post office, so you could go inside and open the box?” 

“Fifteen minutes. You didn’t see me across the street? You were looking right at me.” 

“That’s not very long,” Reid frowned. “No, I did not see you. You’re quite good at clandestine surveillance.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice lately,” Ed grinned. 

“The police never saw you either? What about the clerk?” 

“That little prick took off as fast as he could. The police couldn’t hang around. They received a domestic disturbance call and had to leave.”

“Chasing a dangerous fugitive isn’t nearly as glamorous, I suppose,” Reid commented wryly. As he stirred sugar in his tea, his spoon clattered and his hand shook. 

“Nice to know you actually are a little nervous,” Ed muttered. 

“In spite of my attempts to convince you otherwise, I am very nervous, Ed. Considering what happened the last time we encountered each other, you can hardly blame me.” 

“Then why are you here? Because you have a death wish?” 

“I’m here because I want to help you, not because I have a death wish.”

“Nothing says both of those statements can’t be true,” Ed pointed out dryly. 

Reid gave Trovinger another narrow-eyed stare while taking a sip of tea. 

“I meant what I said. I want to help you. Not just for your own sake, but for Agent Davies’ sake too. Ed, you have hurt a lot of people, and you have made a lot of people very angry. You must realize that the safest place for you to be right about now is in jail,” Reid reasoned. 

“I don’t do well in confinement. I need open air, some wind, some sea.”

“Maybe we can work something out. Find you a nice secure facility in Florida?” 

“I can’t turn myself in yet, Dr. Reid.” 

“Why the hell not?” 

“I have to make amends. I need to perform true penance.” 

“You can send your apologies from jail.” 

“I have to make right what I’ve done wrong,” Ed insisted. 

“You’ve killed people, Ed. You can’t undo that,” Reid ventured gently. “I do understand that you’re sorry for what happened. Agent Davies told me you were very remorseful.”

“How is April?” 

“She’s better,” Reid nodded. 

“You should be nice to her. She could use a friend, you know,” Ed prodded. Reid sipped from his cup and set it down again. 

“You didn’t do her any favors, getting her involved in this, stirring up all the bad memories she was keeping down,” Spencer sighed. 

“I swear to God, if I had known what had happened to her, I would never have taken her with me that day,” Ed mourned. 

“What would you have done, Ed? You had two choices, as far as I can see, and kidnapping April Davies was the lesser of those two evils.” 

“I wouldn’t have killed her,” Ed said, touching his throat. Reid tilted his head and thought about what Ed might mean. He realized that Ed had patted his neck right at the place where April Davies’s cross would have rested. “I didn’t mean to hurt April, Dr. Reid, and I didn’t mean to scare her either. I never meant to make her remember all those horrible things that happened. But I fixed that. Didn’t I? I made it all better for her. She doesn’t have to worry about Todd Fucking Bennett any more.” 

Reid watched Trovinger quietly for a moment. His earnest face seemed to be begging for approval and praise.

“Ed? How do you know about Todd Bennett?” Reid asked. 

Silence and a frown were the only replies Reid received.

“April would never have told you what happened. How do you know?” Reid bit back hard on his annoyance, fighting with the sinking feeling in his chest. 

“I didn’t talk to April. I talked to Todd."

 _'This does not bode well for Todd Fucking Bennett,'_ Reid thought to himself. 

"I gave him time to confess what he had done to her. I think he felt better for having admitted his sins, when all was said and done,” Ed whispered as a menacing smile curled his mouth to one side. 

“Ed?” Reid shivered. 

“Anyway, April doesn’t have to worry about Todd any more. You’ll tell her that, won’t you?” 

“I will,” Reid promised. “You did the right thing,” he praised carefully. Trovinger paused again, puzzlement in his eyes. 

“I’m surprised you’d say that.” 

“When you let April go. When you brought her home safely. You did the right thing when you didn’t hurt April,” Reid clarified. 

“You haven’t found them yet, have you?” Trovinger asked, fighting back a chuckle. 

“Found what?” Reid asked in return. 

“You did find the keys, right?” Ed confirmed. 

“I have them both here,” Reid nodded, patting his side. “The first key goes to the post office box. What does the second key go to?” 

“I can’t tell you. You have to figure out on your own. I made a puzzle for you, Dr. Reid. I know how much you like mysteries. You need to exercise those little gray cells of yours,” Ed chuckled as he scanned the books surrounding them as his eyes lighted upon a few familiar titles. 

“What am I looking for, Ed?” Reid worried. 

“I can’t tell you that either. You have to find out on your own. Is that your phone vibrating?” Ed asked, glancing at Reid’s satchel as he sat up on the edge of his own chair. 

“It’ll stop,” Reid murmured. They both watched his bag shaking. 

“Will it?” Ed mused, watching it continue.

“Eventually.” 

Neither of them could stop staring at the satchel. The phone vibrated very emphatically. Ed was the first one to start snickering. He did his best to quell the noise. Reid gave in to a timid, thin smile. 

“I bet it’s your buddy,” Ed said. 

“It probably is Hotch,” Reid remarked. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I should answer that. He’ll be worried if I don’t.” 

“Yep,” Ed agreed grimly. “We need to wrap this up. I need to get gone.” 

“Do you mind if I answer that?” 

“Nobody’s stopping you,” Trovinger said. 

The phone continued to vibrate. Someone began knocking loudly and insistently on the back door of the house. Trovinger tensed visibly, his hand clutching tighter to his Browning. 

“Ed, I’d feel better if you took my phone out of my bag. I don’t want you to be concerned that I’m going for a gun.”

“You can go for your gun, but if you do, I’ll put a hole in your head.” 

“Ed, I don’t have a gun. That’s my point. It would be better if you opened my bag. That way you can search the bag, and confirm that I don’t have a gun.”

“You don’t have a gun?” Ed gasped. 

“I’m not allowed to carry one yet.” 

“What kind of FBI agent doesn’t carry a gun?”

“One without a permit. You’d be surprised how many people ask that question,” Reid murmured grimly as the face of Phillip Dowd flashed before his eyes, complete with bullet hole between the eyes. 

“You walked into a situation where you had to assume I would be armed, and you didn’t bring so much as a derringer?” Trovinger growled. The pounding on the door grew more violent. 

“I didn’t pass my firearms recertification, and I can’t test for another six months. I’m not allowed to carry a firearm without permission. I sorta shot the instructor in the foot.” 

“Sorta?” Ed worried. 

“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to do it.” 

“Well, I can see where your bosses might want to err on the side of caution. You’re exhibiting every sign of having PTSD.”

“I guess you think that’s funny,” Reid grumbled testily. 

“No, Dr. Reid” Ed denied, half a grin curling his mouth. “But we should pause to appreciate the irony that I can get a gun easier than you can. God does work in mysterious ways.” 

“Ed, would you please pick up my phone before Hotch has a heart attack?” Reid pleaded as he pointed to the satchel. 

“Oh, all right,” Ed muttered. He pulled the satchel across the floor and upended it over the carpet. He picked up Reid’s phone from the top of the pile that formed, and tossed the phone to Reid. Then while Reid was busy, Ed nosed about in the files, photos, and odds and ends. He picked up Reid’s handcuffs on one finger, giving Spencer a sideways glance. 

“Hello?” Spencer said, voice shaking as he touched the buttons on the face of the phone. He cleared his throat and said it again. “Hello?” 

“SPENCER WALTER REID!!!?”

“Hi, Hotch,” Reid replied meekly, scrunching down in his chair and pulling his limbs in closer. 

“What the FUCK are you doing in there?!” 

“Having tea and talking to Ed?” Spencer curled up as Hotch’s voice boomed around the confines of the small room, making the speaker on the phone crackle and sizzle with feedback. 

“YOU PUT DOWN THE TEA, AND YOU WALK YOUR SKINNY ASS TO THE NEAREST DOOR, AND YOU COME OUT OF THERE, RIGHT THIS MINUTE. OR I’M COMING IN. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? DR. REID?”

Trovinger was frowning at Reid. He dropped the handcuffs, and pushed the files and stuff back into Reid’s bag. Then he pulled open the Browning m1910 and checked the available bullets. Reid inhaled quietly, closing his eyes for a moment. 

“Hotch, calm down,” Reid urged. The pounding on the back door grew louder and louder. 

“I AM CALM!” Hotch shouted in reply between thumps. 

“Hotch, please. Do you trust me?” 

“This is not about how much I trust you, Reid!!”

“Do you love me?” 

“Of course I love you,” Hotch wheezed in reply. 

“Give me a few minutes to talk to Ed. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt,” Reid pleaded softly against the sound of Hotch’s ragged breathing. The pounding on the door stopped. Reid was hopeful for a millisecond. Then Hotch gave a feral snarl and literally growled words through the phone line.

“Dr. Reid? If you don’t come out here right this second, I’m coming in after you. Not in ten minutes. Not in five minutes. I’m coming in right now. Do I make myself clear?” 

“Yes, sir,” Reid replied. He set the phone down on the side table, and looked at Trovinger. Ed’s eyes were wide, and his mouth was pulled tight. He held his gun in both hands now, blatant fear overtaking his features. Hotch was giving Ed flashbacks about his father – that harsh whisper and those dangerous threats. Ed was terrified at the prospect of dealing with Hotchner face to face. 

“I’ll shoot him if he comes in here,” Trovinger muttered. “I’ll shoot you too.”

“Ed, stay calm. Agent Hotchner is not going to break down the door, are you, Agent Hotchner??” Reid added more loudly, making damned sure Hotch could hear him over the open phone line. 

“Edward Trovinger, if you hurt Dr. Reid in any way shape or form, I will hunt you, and I will find you, and I will kill you. Are you listening to me, Ed?”

 _‘Oh fuckery,’_ Reid thought when Ed Trovinger bit his mouth closed and pointed his gun at the phone.

“He better not come through that door,” Ed warned. “You tell him to stay outside, Dr. Reid!” 

“He’s not coming in,” Reid promised. 

“Oh, yes I am,” Hotch snarled back. 

“HOTCH!” Reid wailed. 

“Eddie, do you want to get out of there alive?” Hotch whispered, his feral voice getting down into the deepest recesses of Trovinger’s worst nightmare memory of his father. “You need to take Dr. Reid by the arm and push him towards the nearest exit. Door. Window. I don’t care which one. But if Dr. Reid doesn’t show himself in the next thirty seconds, I’m coming through this door.” 

“Ed, don’t be scared. I’ll walk to the hallway. If he sees that I am all right, he will calm down. Ed? Ed?” Reid pleaded. Trovinger was in Reid’s face in two steps, nose to nose, breathing loudly and unsteady. 

“If you leave, he’ll kill me,” Ed whispered.

“Yes, Eddie, I’m going to kill you,” Hotch hissed. 

“I’m not going to leave you, Ed,” Reid promised. 

“ENOUGH TALKING!” Hotch shouted from the phone. 

“God has plans for us, Dr. Reid,” Trovinger said as he moved his Browning close to Spencer’s ribs again. 

“I’m not a messenger from God. I’m only a man. Exactly like you are,” Reid whispered. 

“Are you sure about that?” Trovinger smiled. 

“Eddie, I don’t see Dr. Reid. Where is he?” Hotch growled from the speaker. 

“Ed, please, listen to me. We'll do this together. You have to turn yourself in. There’s no other way out of here for either of us. I don’t want you to get hurt. I really don’t want you to get killed. April would be very upset.”

“She loves you, you know? She worships the ground you walk on, and you don’t even know she’s alive. If something happen to me, I want you to look after her. She needs you, Dr. Reid.” 

“Ed, nothing is going to happen to you. I swear you’ll be safe.” 

“You should leave now, Dr. Reid. You need to leave. I want you to leave.”

“Ed, I’m not leaving without you.”

“Don’t worry. God will look out for me,” Ed smiled. “He’ll look after you too.” 

“TIME IS WASTING, EDDIE!” Hotch howled, rattling the back door again. 

“Please. I don’t want those goons to tear up Bubbles' store to get to you. I like this place. It’s warm, and it’s nice, and it’s safe. I feel safe here. Don’t you?” Reid asked nervously. 

“It is nice,” Ed agreed. 

“It was a tobacco and tea shop during the Revolutionary War. It’s been a tavern. It’s been a brothel. At one time, it was a safe house for runaway slaves. Abolitionists lived here during the early part of the nineteenth century. There are hidden rooms all over the house, tunnels below that lead to the Waterfront, doors that lead to other houses in the neighborhood. There was a merry widow who lived here after the Civil War. She was famous for her dinner parties. She’d hold them in the courtyard on hot summer evenings. She was quite renowned for her dancing skills, and she made a pretty mean mint julep, so they say,” Reid rambled, tapping his foot rapidly on the carpet on the floor. 

Trovinger watched him, training the Browning even closer. 

“We can leave separately, or we can leave together. It’s up to you, Ed, but we’re both walking out of here alive,” Reid insisted. 

“REID?!” Hotch was howling into the phone like an anxious dog, pawing again at the back door, rattling the hinges. “REID!? Shut up!!”

“I’m not going to let them kill you. We have so much to talk about,” Spencer persuaded. "I need your help. I have questions about what happened with your sister and your mother, questions only you can answer. We can leave here and go anywhere you want to go." 

“Where should we go?” Ed asked, his voice scared and small.

“You like the beach. We can go to Florida if you like,” Reid promised. 

“That’s what I like about books. They can take you everywhere, anywhere, or nowhere, if you want,” Trovinger said as his sad eyes traced along the shelves that surrounded them. "It would be okay to die here.” 

“No one else is going to die."

"We're all going to die, Dr. Reid. I'm not afraid to die. Are you?"

"Yes," Reid answered quickly and emphatically, which won a quick chuckle from Trovinger. "Your mother loved books too, didn’t she? You read her books as you grew up,” Reid surmised.

“I read her books because that’s all I had left of her,” Ed mourned. “She spoke to me through her books. She read them to me herself.” 

“I’m sorry about your mother, and I’m sorry about Lisa too,” Reid whispered. 

“I’d like to see them again,” Ed lamented. 

“You will, Ed. I promise. You will see them again. But not today,” Reid stressed, shaking his head back and forth. 

“REID!?” Hotch shouted from the phone. 

“Ed?” Reid mouthed, pointing at the drawer on the side table. 

Ed stared dubiously at Reid’s extended arm, the fragile limb, the bony fingers. Trovinger put the barrel of his Browning against Reid’s chest as he slowly opened the drawer on the table and peered inside. Reid pulled his satchel up into his lap, holding it against his middle like a shield. Ed lifted up the skeleton key from the drawer as he raised his gun to rest the barrel against Reid’s cheek. Reid tapped his foot hard on the carpet again. When the barrel of the gun moved to his forehead, Spencer drew in a breath. Trovinger scanned the room for obvious keyholes before staring back down at the skeleton key in his grip.

“It’s time to go, Ed,” Reid said, voice trembling. He exhaled, tapping the floor again. Ed’s eyes centered on the carpet under Reid’s feet. “I want you to give me your word.” 

“My word?” Trovinger gulped. 

“No more bombs. No more guns. No more violence. You want time to perform penance? I can give you some time. But you have to promise me you aren’t going to hurt anyone else.” 

“I’ll be doing God’s work, Dr. Reid.” 

“You need to keep in touch with me.” 

“I’ll keep in touch,” Ed agreed.

“I’m standing up now, Ed, and I’m going to open the door.” 

Reid took the skeleton key from Ed’s hand, and pulled the carpet aside. He dropped to his knees and turned the key in the keyhole in the floor. There was an audible, metallic click. Reid knew instantly what the tactical officers listening with Hotch were going to think that had been. Hotch didn't say anything. He might have made a small, desperate sound. But someone with him drew in a gasp of breath.

"Wash? Gun." It had been a woman's voice. 

"We're going in." 

Ed blinked in disbelief as Reid pulled open the door in the floor. The swing of Trovinger’s fist took Reid quite by surprise. Spencer wished in retrospect that he had not shouted in alarm when he had flailed backwards. His satchel went flying and crashed into one of the bookcases. Tumbling tomes travelled everywhere. Reid slammed backwards into the bookcase next. Trovinger's gun went off as it landed whirling on the floor, a silver, brown, and black pinwheel. The barrel was pointed away from Reid at least. He watched a bullet hole appear in a particularly-thick volume of War and Peace, and he simply could not stop the laugh that bubbled out of his throat. 

The door in the floor slammed closed as the back door to the house burst open. Glass went flying, and boots stomped through the skinny hallway. From the floor, Reid could see through the space under the closed room door and bookcase. The front door to the store crashed open almost simultaneously, with the jingle, jangling of cracking wood, smashing glass, and frantic alarm bells. There were three, white-hot flashes. Monstrous, overwhelming clouds of smoke devoured everything in their paths. Hideous tendrils slithered under the door to the closed room, choking Reid. Those had been crowd-control devices, designed to disorient criminals so they didn’t know which direction to run. 

The door to the hidden room jolted in, missing Reid’s outstretched arm by a fraction of an inch. The bookcase attached to the door careened into the room at an angle, up on one corner foot. It hung there as if suspended by a capricious magic trick. Reid gazed up at the falling bookcase in awe. If it went backwards, he would be fine. If it came forwards, he was going to get a heavy shelf right in the head. It wasn’t that Reid couldn’t appreciate the irony that he was about to be smashed under three-hundred-fifty pounds of wood and paper, but he was obviously hoping the bookcase went backwards. 

A beefy hand grabbed Reid’s chest, and another unceremoniously latched onto his belt buckle. He was yanked into the hallway. He hadn’t even seen the face of the forms who had grabbed him, because he had been so transfixed by the bookcase looming over him. Reid watched the countless books and heavy shelves as they completed their forward fall. A shoulder in his gut jolted him back to reality. He was draped like a long sack, being carried by a familiar phantom who pounded down the skinny hallway and past the small kitchen. Reid was fighting for every breath he could draw in through the acrid smoke, coughing and wheezing and coughing some more. 

They emerged into the courtyard, which was lit up again like Christmas, with lights and sirens and swarms of activity. Reid gasped for fresh air. A brick wall smacked Reid in the back, taking the air out of him. Hotch stuck his face in Reid’s face, but Spencer couldn’t hear a word that Aaron was shouting at him. Judging by his hostile expression, and the fact Aaron was shaking Reid by both shoulders, it might have been a good thing that Hotch’s words were being drowned out by the ringing in Reid’s ears and the sirens and the helicopter noise overhead. 

Hotch picked Reid up again, and slung him over one shoulder, not giving him the chance to protest or wriggle away. Spencer wasn’t about to let go. He sank into the arms around him, resting his head against Hotch, tucking himself into the familiar scent of home. He breathed against Aaron’s rough skin and prickling, short hair, knowing just how lucky he was to be feeling those arms around him, to be feeling at all. Reid held on tight to Hotch as the world spun in chaos around them.


	22. Epilogue - Ball and Chain

Epilogue - Ball and Chain

 

“My satchel. I dropped it inside. Has anyone seen my satchel?” 

“Are your ears ringing?” 

“I need my satchel.” 

“How’s your face?” 

“It’s not the first punch I’ve taken,” Reid replied, putting a couple fingertips against his swollen cheek and mouth. Agent Washington leaned down into view. He slapped a flexible blue icepack into Reid’s hand, and then smacked the hand against Reid’s face none too gently. 

“Probably won’t be the last one either, you stupid son of a bitch,” Washington laughed under his breath. The tactical unit chief leapt down the steps of the ambulance, his boots clanking on the metal before clumping on the pavement. “He’s all yours, Captain. Take it easy on him. His eyes are uneven, and he keeps asking for his purse.” 

“It’s a goddamn messenger bag!” Reid shouted angrily. 

“He’s pretty irritable too,” Washington remarked. Captain Spaulding leapt up into the back of the ambulance. She dropped a light brown, leather bag at Reid’s feet. Amy sat down on the metal shelf opposite the gurney Reid was occupying. She reached out and shook the cuffs which were keeping him trapped where he sat. 

“So, Doc?”

“Yes?” Reid questioned.

“Was it good for you?” Amy asked, her grin spreading. 

“I could use a stiff drink and a change of underwear, if that’s what you’re asking,” Reid beamed carefully before becoming serious again. “How’s Bubbles?” 

“Her daughter is busy swearing out a restraining order against you.”

“Did you find Maya and Malcolm and Roho?”

“Her cats are fine.”

“Good.”

“Hotch is busy combing the tunnels.” 

“He didn’t give you his handcuff key, did he?” Reid asked, rattling the manacles again. 

“You aren’t going anywhere until he unlocks you himself.”

“You could uncuff me.”

“Oh, no, Doc. I do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, because humans are crunchy and taste great with ketchup,” Spaulding laughed. 

“How mad is Hotch?” Reid wondered. Spaulding lifted the ice pack and winced as she studied Reid’s bruised face. 

“Let me put it this way. He’s said the F word about seventy times in the last fifteen minutes. He’s used the M-F word a few times too. In fact, he’s branched out of his usual repertoire, and ventured into some multi-syllabic, hard-consonant, Germanic words that I’ve never heard since my last visit to Ramstein. Can you move your jaw back and forth?” 

Reid demonstrated that he could indeed move his jaw back and forth because he was grinning ear to ear once more. 

“Which multi-syllabic, hard-consonant Germanic words are we talking about?” Reid wondered. 

“You took a big risk, Dr. Reid,” Spaulding scolded. 

“It was the right thing to do.” 

“I hope so, for your sake.” 

“When Hotch calms down, he’ll understand,” Reid was sure. 

“Will he? You had a wanted fugitive in your grasp, Dr. Reid, and you let the bastard walk. You opened the damned door for him.” 

“He had a gun. He hit me. He took me by surprise. There was nothing I could do to stop him,” Reid defended. 

“Trovinger hit you on purpose,” Spaulding sighed. 

“Of course he did,” Reid defended. “He had to make it look like good.” 

“You’ll be lucky if Hotch doesn’t arrest you for obstruction, aiding and abetting, or at the very least, make you sleep on the floor. I’ve never seen him so hot.” 

“Hey, I got Trovinger to surrender his gun, and give me his word that he’s not going to hurt any one else. I got him to promise to keep in touch. He was eating out of my hand. If Hotch had given me another ten minutes, I know I could have talked Ed into turning himself in. But no. Hotch couldn’t be patient. He couldn’t be calm, and let me do my job. He had to go all Rambo, strap on a vest, and break down the door. He’s lucky he didn’t get me shot with all his macho bullshit posturing,” Reid pouted as he dug around violently inside his satchel. 

“Doc, I could be wrong, but I doubt Hotch is going to see it like that,” Spaulding pointed out.

“Shit. My handcuff key must have fallen out on the floor when Ed dumped my bag. Do you have your key on you?” Reid asked, taking his hand out of his satchel. 

“Do I look stupid? I took your key before I gave you the bag.”

“Why did you take my key?” Reid wondered in a little boy voice. 

“You’re not going anywhere until Hotch says so. If I were you, I’d sit here quietly, and plan an epic apology.”

“Come on, Captain. You gotta let me go. I have to stop Hotch before he actually stumbles into Trovinger down there.” 

“Nice try,” Spaulding chuckled. She patted Reid’s shoulder and exited the ambulance. 

“AMY-EEEEEEEE!” Reid pleaded, getting up, pulling his arm along, and getting as far as the end of the gurney before he was stopped by his cuffed hand hitting the end of the railing. 

“Don’t you ‘Amy’ me,” Spaulding muttered, smacking Reid’s feet when he put them over the end of the ambulance floor. “Lucky for you Trovinger believed Mrs. McFergus, and he didn’t start shooting upstairs when the floorboards squeaked. Lucky for me, I had a couple cats to shoo downstairs to distract him.” 

“Could you see everything?” 

“Right through the floor registers, just like you said,” she confirmed. 

“I’ve been listening in on conversations there for years,” Reid smiled. “Thank you for staying upstairs and not rushing the room. I appreciate the kind of restraint it took for you to let me have a chance to talk to Trovinger alone.”

“You should never have taken the risk,” she chided.

“This is not my first rodeo, cowgirl,” Reid smiled persuasively, getting closer to her. He casually inched an arm behind the captain on the metal steps.

“Dr. Reid, you devious little snake. If you try to pick my pocket to get that handcuff key, I’m going to put you in traction. You behave yourself,” Spaulding murmured, snatching up his hand, twisting his finger, and putting his arm away from herself. 

“Understood,” Reid replied meekly, shaking the pain out of his hand when she let go. Spaulding bounced to her feet excitedly.

“Here he comes. You’re toast,” she chuckled. 

Hotch was stomping his way up Wisconsin, rather like the hissing, snarling dragon Spaulding had alluded to earlier. Hotch’s breath was visible in the cold air, his chest rising and falling. He was covered in dirt and grime. No doubt his filthy state was the result of running hot and sweaty through the roiling smoke bombs inside the shop, but also from climbing around and through the tunnels and sewers below the bookstore and the other houses on the street in search of Edward Trovinger. 

The fact that Hotch was stomping up the hill alone did give Reid a measure of comfort. It meant that Washington’s tactical team was scouring the underground tunnels. If Washington’s team was down in the tunnels, that meant they had not yet located Trovinger. There was still a chance that Trovinger had found his way out, that he had reached the Waterfront and had made his escape, or that he had found an unlocked door which had led him to safety. Seeing Hotch stomping up the hill alone, his breath billowing around him in the foul, cold night, it did make Reid feel slightly better for a moment or two. At least until it sank in on Reid that the entirety of that angry mood was about to land right on top of him, figuratively if not literally. Reid slumped where he was sitting, and closed his eyes to wait his doom. He peeked out a second or two later to judge Hotch’s progress, and then closed his eyes again.

“You have every right to be angry with me,” Reid began when Hotch was in hearing range. Spaulding swallowed a chortle as Reid raised his eyes and stared innocently through his lashes at Hotch. Aaron came to a halt at the back of the ambulance, his breath ragged, and his face a mask of barely-contained rage and frustration. 

“Captain? Could we have a couple minutes alone?” Hotch barked. 

“Yes, sir. I’ll be over there, with my hands over my ears. Don’t hurt him too bad, sir.”

“Get lost,” Hotch growled. Amy couldn’t walk away fast enough. She went as far as the tactical van, where Miles was sitting down with a cup of coffee and a clipboard, writing his report. Reid dared another look up at Hotch. He shook his wrist to make the cuffs rattle, giving Hotch a hopeful, tiny smile. Hotch huffed, dug in his pocket, and took out the key. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you back there,” Reid said. 

Hotch raised one finger, put it in Reid’s face, shook it back and forth barely past the end of his nose. 

“Not a word.”

“No, sir,” Reid agreed at once. Hotch snagged Reid’s hand, and removed the cuffs. Spencer rubbed his bruised wrist, and gave Hotch his most pitiful stare. 

“Get up in there. We need to talk,” Hotch muttered, swatting Reid on the head, on the thigh, and then swatting him again on the backside too when he turned around. Reid scrambled inside and sat on the gurney. He picked up the blue ice pack and fumbled with it as Hotch closed the doors and climbed inside with him. Aaron took a deep breath, hunched over, and sank onto the metal bench. He had to shove aside tackle boxes of medical supplies to make room for his derriere. 

“Hotch, if you’ll let me explain.” 

“Reid, shut up.” 

Spencer fell silent once more, staring down at the floor, at his hands, at the blue ice pack. Hotch reached out and took Reid’s hand, fussing with his rings, turning them around and around. He put the blue bag aside. For a moment, Spencer was afraid Hotch was trying to work the rings off his finger, and he tensed, but he did not pull away. Hotch curled Reid's fingers up with his own, and rested them against his mouth. Aaron’s entire jaw were quivering. Reid gazed up at him. Hotch’s eyes swam with tears as he focused on Reid. 

“I’m only going to say this once, Spencer, so you better pay attention. You are never going to put yourself in danger this way again. You have nothing to prove. Do you understand me? I’m not… I didn’t….I’m…” Aaron paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. He sniffled loudly, his voice cracking as he continued. “I spent a month in the hospital with you. I watched you lying in that bed for twenty-eight days of the longest goddamn days of my life. I listened to those machines beeping until I thought I’d never get the sound out of my head. I held my breath for a month, afraid you were going to leave me just like Haley left me, afraid you were going break my heart too. I’ve never felt so helpless in all my life, not until tonight, standing outside that door, listening to you offer yourself up to that madman. When you opened your eyes in that hospital, and you came back to me? That was a miracle. It was the best kind of magic there is. And every day I’ve had with you since then has meant the world to me. You mean the world to me. I’m not going to watch you piss this away. You are going to stop this nonsense before you get yourself hurt. Or you get yourself killed. Do you understand me? I can’t go through it again, Reid. You don’t know what it did to me, losing Haley, and almost losing you too. I’m not going to go through that, ever again. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. I won’t put Jack through it either. So you are going to stop this reckless behavior, or we’re done. Do you understand what I’m telling you? I won’t watch you put yourself in danger because you feel guilty that you survived when Pam died, and John Rockford and his son died, or because you feel guilty about what happened to April Davies. I won’t be around to pick up the pieces when you finally screw up, and say the wrong thing to the wrong psychopath, and he puts a bullet in that stupid fucking head of yours. I’m not going to watch you get yourself killed to prove what a goddamn genius you are. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. If you ever take a risk like this again, we’re done. It’s over. We’re through. Do I make myself clear?”

Reid held perfectly still, not daring to breath. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Hotch’s dirty, angry, tear-streaked face. 

“DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?” Hotch bellowed, his breath like a hot fire in Spencer's face.

“Yes, sir!” Reid blurted, filling with shame as he started to shake. Hotch caressed Reid’s hair with both grimy hands, and anointed the top of his head with anxious kisses. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell at you,” Hotch gasped in Reid’s ear. “Spencer. You aren’t even wearing a vest,” Hotch whimpered, sliding down to the ground on his knees. Spencer bit his mouth closed and fought with his own tears. Hotch peeled out of his dirt-smeared, bullet-proof vest. He wrapped it around Reid’s chest, patting down the straps on his ribs and over his shoulders. True, it was too little, too late, but the tenderness of the gesture went right through Spencer’s heart. 

“I won’t do it again, sir. You have my word,” Reid replied. He reached up and dried Hotch’s face, but only managed to make matters worse. He dug the handy-wipes out of his satchel, and offered them to Hotch. 

“You, sir, are an asshole. I should put you on report for this,” Hotch muttered, pulling out a wipe, and cleaning as much of his face as possible. 

“You missed a spot, there, on the left. You have every right to be furious with me,” Reid agreed humbly. Hotch sniffed loudly again. His red eyes glimmered with pent-up emotion. 

“Furious? You have no idea. When I get you home,” Aaron growled, snatching another handy-wipe from Reid’s hands, washing his filthy face once more. “When I’m done with you, you aren’t going to be able to sit down for a month,” Hotch threatened. Reid’s heart pounded excitedly, and not with fear.

“Careful there. I might hold you to that,” Reid grinned roguishly. Hotch laughed in spite of his anger. He tossed the wipes into the small trash receptacle marked for hazardous waste. Someone was pounding on the back of the ambulance. 

“What?!” both men shouted in unison as the doors opened. 

“Agent Washington is coming back up the hill, and Dr. Lind is with him,” Spaulding warned before closing the door once more. Hotch stood up and peered out the window in the doors.

“Wow,” Aaron whistled. 

“How pissed is she?” Reid wondered. 

“You better make this good. You’re only going to get one shot at it.” 

“Relax, Hotch. I got this,” Reid promised, his roguish smile returning. Hotch swung the doors open. Reid took one look at Dr. Lind, and changed his mind. “Hold my hand, Daddy?” Spencer pleaded. Hotch sat down on the ambulance steps with a thump, and sniffled wetly.

“Get over here,” Aaron muttered. Reid scampered to sit down next to Hotch. He didn’t actually take Aaron’s hand, but he did start to wring his own fingers together tightly with fear.

“Dr. Reid? I can’t wait to hear what you have to say for yourself!” Dr. Lind shouted from afar. 

“You and me both, sister,” Hotch muttered softly, holding back a gleeful snicker. Reid cleared his throat, swung his feet, and then folded his legs up under himself. Dr. Lind was at the ambulance in ten steps, hands on her hips, eyes flaring behind her wire-rimmed glasses. Reid took a deep breath.

“Ma’am,” Reid bleated. “I can explain.” 

“On second thought, Dr. Reid. No. Just. No. I’ve seen enough.” 

Hotch got to his feet, straightened his shirt tails, and cleared his throat. 

“Ma’am? If I could…” 

“Agent Hotchner, I’ll get to you in a minute,” Dr. Lind warned. Hotch bit his tongue. “Dr. Reid, you’re done for the night. As of right now, you’re off this case. In fact, you’re off both cases.”

“But I’m this close!” Reid protested. 

“Dr. Reid, you’re too close. You’ve gone and made yourself a material witness instead of staying an impartial investigator. I have no choice but to remove from the Trovinger case.”

“What am I supposed to do with myself while everyone else is working the case?” Reid bawled.

“I have a few suggestions, but they don’t bear repeating in public,” Lind muttered. “Give me your foot,” she ordered. 

“Why?” Reid wanted to know. 

“Don’t ask questions.” 

Reid unfolded his right leg, and slid it cautiously in Dr. Lind’s direction. Simone took Spencer’s foot between her knees, as if he were a small child who needed assistance tying his shoe. She pushed Reid’s trouser leg up out of her way. Reid wondered for a moment if she was checking for an ankle holster or a drug stash. Dr. Lind pulled a black Velcro cuff out of her jacket pocket. She wrapped the black cuff around Reid’s gangly ankle. 

Agent Washington patted Hotch’s shoulder, and gave him a tiny device, a remote which fit in the palm of his hand. Hotch’s grim expression was fading. In fact, he was fighting back a smile. The red light on Hotch's remote was beeping in time with the matching red light on the electronic device attached to Reid’s ankle cuff. Spencer slowly put his foot down on the ground again. Reid raised wounded eyes at Hotch, and his mouth folded into a pouty frown. In response, Aaron’s face split open with a wicked, wide grin. 

“I don’t know what to say, ma’am,” Hotch cleared his throat again. 

“Don’t thank me, Agent Hotchner. He’s your baby now. You're going to sit on him, and keep him out of trouble. He gets out of line again, and I will put both of you on report. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Hotch grinned. 

“The monitor is keyed to this device, so you can decide how far away you want to let him go before the alarm sounds,” Washington interjected. “One mile, two miles, ten miles." 

“Ten feet?” Hotch asked. Reid kicked Hotch in the shin with his left foot, under the guise of down off the ambulance steps. 

“Ten feet. That’s good too,” Washington replied. He slipped Reid's phone into Hotch's hand too. "The GPS app on this phone will allow you to find him." 

“Come on, Wash. Franzetti isn’t going to wait all night down there,” Lind muttered. She looked towards the Potomac River below, where search lights prickled the night sky before turning downward towards the rushing current. 

“What do you want me to do, ma’am?” Hotch asked, slipping the cell phone and the monitoring device into his trouser pocket. Dr. Lind looked from the river, back to Hotch and Reid, first one, then the other, and back again to the water. 

“Take Dr. Reid home. Make sure he stays there. Give him something to keep him busy. Keep him out of this investigation, and out of my hair.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“On the outside chance that Trovinger slips the noose tonight, and he actually keeps his promise to contact Dr. Reid, I want eyes on that correspondence. Understood?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Hotch nodded, putting a big hand on Reid’s collar and rubbing a thumb along the nape of his neck. 

Dr. Lind and Agent Washington nodded goodbye before heading down the hill. Behind them, Reid gave a yelp. Washington glanced back at the ambulance. Hotch was carrying Reid over one shoulder towards the van and the SUVs.


End file.
